


Fifty Fades of Chess

by KatesBrain



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blindfolds, Bondage, Chess, Demon Sex, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Drug use (lyrium), Frottage, Gags, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Morally-dubious choices, Pre-Negotiated Kink, Reference to abduction/kidnapping and threat of abuse, References to Here Lies the Abyss and Last Resort of Good Men, Single POV, Slow Burn, Spanking, The Fade, Wax Play, cold play, collar kink, shameless flirting, stubble kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatesBrain/pseuds/KatesBrain
Summary: During a visit to the Fade with a rather delectable desire demon taking the form of Cullen, Dorian learns the hard way that magic-suppressing collars are a thing in the south.  Of course, being Dorian, he can't resist the temptation to visit that same demon again and again.  Back in the real world and in between Fade visits, there is a collar to research, chess to play and a growing appreciation of who Cullen really is.  Nothing that Dorian can't cope with, until he realises that his Fade visits have gotten a little out of hand.  Resolving to do better from then on, he finds that things don't go as planned when it all comes to a head at Adamant Fortress.





	1. Oversight

**Author's Note:**

> I've got my geek on and used chess quotes for each chaper and chess terminology for their titles. Title definitions have been taken/paraphrased from the Wiki entry: Glossary of Chess and are given in the notes for each chapter.  
> Tags from 'Blindfolds' onwards are for the optional, smutty epilogue (except for the frottage!)
> 
> Concrit always welcome :)
> 
> *  
> Oversight: A move made in error, usually a blunder, due to a miscalculation or missed observation.

_“Mistrust is the most necessary characteristic of the Chess player” (Siegbert Tarrasch)_

Too much lyrium.  He had known this at the time but it had been one tough dragon.  Anything to give them the edge, help them defeat the beast without any casualties.  As such, it was inevitable that his dreams would take him back to the Fade.  How long had it been since he had last entered here?  How long since that last demon had tried to win him over with delectable words and a fine body?  A desire demon, of course.  They always were; temptation was forever going to be his weakness and they knew it. 

This time the Fade resembled a mess of features from Skyhold: tall keep walls, open courtyards, banners dancing in the breeze.  The decorations were lavish, however, with silk and gold brocade giving it a touch of refinement that it could never achieve in real life.  It was also empty of people and the air warm, quite unlike the usual sting of chill from the Frostbacks.  He wandered for a time finding his anticipation build for whatever delights the latest demon would have to offer him, what physical pleasures he could lure from the demon without letting it reach the point of possession.  A small part of him hoped for a change, for there to be a pride demon in the form of Madame Giselle for him to torment.  Now that _would_  be fun. 

Eventually, his exploration led to the garden courtyard where a lone person - demon - sat waiting for him at the chessboard in the guise of Commander Cullen.  An unexpected apparition, but certainly not unwelcome.

"My, my, you've come to tempt me as that handsome thing?"

The demon gave a perfectly Cullenesque self-conscious laugh and, to Dorian's surprise, actually blushed.  It gestured towards the board with a gloved hand and asked, "Would you like to play?"

"Oh, I'd love to play with you."

Dorian seated himself opposite noting the improvement in the now-armless and padded chairs, running an appraising eye over the demon's form as he did so.  The Commander was a delicious gift to the eyes, especially when practising with the soldiers, sweat lining his brow, muscles hefting sword and shield.  It was a damn shame he insisted on wearing that appalling rug, hiding what Dorian suspected to be particularly fine assets when viewed from behind.  He was disappointed to see the rug making an appearance today. 

"Winner takes all?" The demon asked coyly.

"Oh, I don't think so.  Your stakes are a bit too rich for my tastes.  We'll play for fun but you can still try your best to tempt me.  I must say I don't rate your chances: I have played this game several times before and, as you can see, am yet to be possessed."

The game proceeded rather predictably, with the demon gaining the upper hand as the Commander would and Dorian resorting to his usual slight-of-hand to cheat his way out of tight spots.  Although he enjoyed flirting throughout and seeing the demon's approximation of the Commander's pink-tinged skin at every innuendo-laden remark, it highlighted why his usual teasing only went so far.  The Commander was a painfully timid creature when it came to blunt allusions of a sexual nature, leaving Dorian wondering if he had any experience with men or women.  The fantasy of taking someone for the first time, of coaxing them into the unknown, luring them out of shyness, was not one that Dorian relished, preferring someone a little more self-assured.  Having higher expectations of a desire demon, it wasn't long before their game of chess began to bore him.

"Determined to play it coy, then? " he asked.  "Going to make me do all the chasing today?"

"I thought you enjoyed the thrill of the chase," the demon replied, its resolute tone of voice now a stark contrast to the softer, weaker pitch it had used when fully immersing itself in the role of the Commander only moments before. 

"Only when the prey is worth catching."

"But I know you find this form appealing."

"The body, yes; the whole package, less so.  And, if we're here for you to tempt me, then persistent bashful evasion of anything physical is certainly not going to win me over."

The demon eyed him with consideration before leaning forward, resting chin in hand, elbows on the table knocking several pieces over and biting at its lower lip thoughtfully. 

"So we'll dispense with how your Commander usually behaves and get straight to business?"

"That sounds a little more agreeable."

"I could let you devour this body every night.  There would be no 'bashful evasion', just unadulterated lust.  All the parts of the man that you'd love to get to know intimately without having to deal with his inexperience."

"I like where some of this is going."

"Only some?"

"Oh, you know the part that I'm reluctant to indulge in.  Besides, I might like to look at the man but it doesn't actually mean I'll enjoy the reality.  Perhaps you should let me have a taster before I agree to anything?"  Dorian felt a booted foot rub up against his leg under the table and smiled coquettishly.  It was ironic, he considered, how easily some of these desire demons could be manipulated.  "Is that all I get?  A game of footsie?  Surely you have more to offer than that?"

The demon drew back and nonchalantly used the same foot to tip the table over to one side with a thud, chess board and pieces sent scattering across the stone paving.  Taking its time, it stood and moved closer, step by step, until the bulk of the Commander's body was leaning over him.  Dorian's breath caught at the proximity and then again when the demon rested a hand on his shoulder as it bent down to sit astride him. 

"Now this is definitely more promising," Dorian purred, running his hands up and down firmly along the broad thighs, feeling the weight of the Commander in his lap and smelling the tang of leather and metal polish from the plates of armour.  This attention to detail on the part of the demon was going to make this delightful.

Drawing the Commander's face towards his own, Dorian leaned in but stopped briefly in surprise before letting their lips make contact.  It was the tang of lyrium on the Commander's breath that had given him a moment's pause, an element that felt wrong.  Templars during training or out in the field would reek of it as it permeated through their sweat, and those whom Dorian had spoken to in the Herald's Rest exhaled it on their ale-sodden breaths.  He had assumed lyrium was part and parcel of the Commander's way of life, too, and the demon had evidently picked up on this assumption.  It was only now that he realised the Commander didn't smell like other Templars.  Pushing the thought to one side for further consideration at a later date, he focussed on the feel of the mouth working its way against his own, stubble grazing his face and the soldier's muscled legs under his hands.  A soft moan of pleasure escaped from his lips and to his dismay the demon pulled back breaking the kiss. 

"Is that the entirety of my 'taster'?" Dorian asked as he ran his hands up the front of the Commander's chest plate, stopping at buckles that fixed it in place at the shoulders.  "Or am I allowed to peruse the merchandise beneath the armour?"

The demon smiled and nodded, shifting in Dorian's lap as buckles were loosened, rug unpinned and plates peeled off to reveal an undershirt with laces that started at the neckline and promisingly ended mid-chest.  Toying with the threads of fabric, Dorian idly ran the tips of his fingers across the ridge of collarbone underneath.  He slipped an index finger around one of the laces and tugged it free from the first hole, then the next, then...  a sudden pull around his throat yanked him backwards.  For a moment he couldn't breathe.  His vision faded, images blurring to a dull grey.  A ring of sharp pain wound its way around his neck at the same time that his pool of magic was being dragged away out of reach.  Although he writhed and clawed at a leather strap that seemed to be the source of his pain, he was helpless.  The last time - the only time - he had experienced this was... no, it couldn't be.  His father wouldn't, not again?  Crying out in desperation, Dorian stilled suddenly at the weight of an iron boot placed firmly on his chest and the edge of a sharp blade held under his jaw.

"Be still, demon." 

His eyes having been squeezed tight from the pain, were cautiously opened and he winced at the brightness.  The dark outline of Cassandra stood over him holding a sword to his throat.

"Get off me!" he hissed, trying to sound less vulnerable than he felt.

"Silence!  We don't need to hear your poisonous words."  The sword pressed closer and he froze, wondering what on Thedas he done to deserve this treatment as Cassandra barked out the order, "Bind his wrists."

"Are you sure that's really necessary?"

"We can't take any chances, Inquisitor.  Even without access to magic, an abomination can be dangerous."

Dorian couldn't help himself from speaking out again, despite the ever-present point of blade at his neck.  "Abomination?  You can't be ser--"

The boot pressed harder in warning.  "I _will_ end you.  If you are not possessed, then I suggest you behave and we can confirm your claims back at Skyhold."

At these words, he had to fight the panic rising within him: Skyhold was at least four hours ride away.  Four hours of having this _device_ strapped around his neck.  Four hours of being unable to defend himself, of playing the part of their slave.  How he hated these southern barbarians.

**


	2. Passive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Passive: A piece that is able to move to or control relatively few squares, also referred to as an inactive piece.

_“The defensive power of a pinned piece is only imaginary” (Aaron Nimzovich)_

The ride home was miserable.  Not trusted to be in charge of his own steed, he was forced to share the Inquisitor's horse and sat perched uncomfortably behind her.  His horse was lead by Blackwall who, along with Cassandra, flanked the Inquisitor to ensure "the demon didn't try anything."  The collar itched and chafed, and when he fidgeted with it, trying to stretch out the uncomfortably tight band, the electric shock it released nearly sent him tumbling from the horse.  He didn't dare touch it again.  

Through snippets of conversation and careful questioning, he learned that he had overslept by a couple of hours and couldn't be woken before Cassandra had made the decision to use the collar.  It was made quite clear that she thought a different plan of action would have been more appropriate if the Inquisitor hadn't intervened.

"If you had been a Circle Mage going through the Harrowing and staying that long in the Fade, they would not have risked bringing you back."

At least the Inquisitor seemed somewhat apologetic. 

"We just need to be certain, Dorian," she explained tentatively.  "I've never seen someone possessed before; I wouldn't know what to look for."

"Neither have I," he snapped back.  "I hate this collar.  I would rather be forced to walk next the horses naked than wear it."

"But it's acceptable to use these collars on your mage slaves back in Tevinter?" 

"You know I don't agree with everything they do back home."

He fell into a sullen, moody silence, glaring at Cassandra and Blackwall every time they looked over to check he wasn't doing anything 'demony'.  His arms ached, his head throbbed and he fiercely resented the sensation of vulnerability that came from not having access to magic.  As they reached the final ascent to Skyhold, he realised with disgust what those keeping watch from the walls could see: him brought home in disgrace, bound and saddled with the Inquisitor.  It wouldn't matter that he hadn't done anything wrong: gossip would ensure another black mark would be attached to the evil-Tevinter stereotype that so many clung to. 

"I know I like to be the centre of attention, but this is not the sort of fanfare I'd usually relish."

They ignored his complaints and so he focused the minutiae of activity that could been seen on the battlements at their arrival, followed by the gates being opened as they drew closer.  As they entered, he noticed that several residents had started to gather around the fringes of the courtyard, their hushed whispers a further source of irritation.  He wanted nothing more than to politely tell them all to fuck off, but the collar and unwanted attention left him uncharacteristically taciturn. 

"Get Solas," Cassandra called out to a scout they passed on their way to the stables.

They dismounted, with the Inquisitor throwing her leg gracefully forward over the horse's neck before letting Dorian make his own way down, albeit more unsteadily thanks to the bindings.  As the horses were passed over to the stable hands, Dorian turned to see the Commander striding up towards them and staring at his wrists.  Just what he needed: a Templar to agree on the risk he posed to everyone.

"What's happened?" the Commander asked and Cassandra replied before Dorian could get a word in edgeways.

"We think that Dorian has been possessed."

"No," Dorian spat out, " _we_ do not think any such thing."

The Commander looked over at Dorian and then down to his neckline.  "Is that a... a magic-blocking collar?" 

Here it comes, Dorian thought, well done for binding the abomination, but to his surprise the Commander didn't say this and neither waited for a reply to his question.  His face turned stony and his next words were anything but pleased. 

"Get that off him now."

"We need to wait for Solas."

"Seeker, we can't have that sort of contraption in Skyhold.  And what will the other mages think if they see this being used?"

"Can we not do this here?"  Cassandra glanced pointedly at the accruing onlookers.

"It's a bit late for that.  Half the keep saw you bringing him up like a common criminal.  Take the damned thing off!"

"Are you the Commander of the Inquisition's forces or the Commander of the Inquisition now?"

The Commander was furious and Dorian found himself pleasantly distracted from his predicament at the sight of him arguing with Cassandra in his defence.  No one could stop them, they were even oblivious to the Inquisitor trying to interject in an effort to ease the tension.  It was only when Solas arrived, did the pair of them falter in their verbal engagement.

"Why is he wearing that?" Solas asked, clearly just as unimpressed as the Commander.   

"We thought he might be possessed," Cassandra bit out quietly, her response now subdued in the face of Solas' disapproval.

"I can assure you he is quite free of demons."

She stepped forward and reached out to unlock the device, face sullen, avoiding eye contact as she did so.  A wave of magic flooded through him, grounding him once more and he breathed in heavily feeling it settle back into his bones before using a quick flash of flame to destroy his wrist bindings.  Over her shoulder, Dorian could see Blackwall still eyeing him suspiciously in the background and he couldn't resist from childishly sticking his tongue out at the hairy lummox.

"We should have guessed," Blackwall said carelessly, "when you started crying out for your daddy."

A chill ran down his spine.  He didn't, did he?  Shit.  It certainly wasn't for the reasons that the oaf was probably assuming.  Dorian bit down on the inside of his cheek to avoid snapping back at the man.  Now there was a conversation that he sorely avoided for good reason.  Blackwall was disgustingly pleased with Dorian's lack of response and started to chuckle, the heathen bastard.     

"Give me the collar," the Commander insisted.  "I will see it is destroyed."

"But it was a gift!  Awarded to me after I completed my vigil for the Seekers of Truth.  Inquisitor?"

The Inquisitor seemed troubled.  She glanced between Cassandra, the Commander and Solas and then her gaze came to rest on Dorian.  "I'm so sorry, Dorian, this was a huge mistake."  Turning back to Cassandra, she added, "We can't risk making that sort of error again.  Please hand it over to Cullen.  It has no place here."

Cassandra scowled as she thrust the collar at the Commander, saying nothing further before marching off in the direction of the practice dummies.  She'd be hacking at them shortly, no doubt, and Dorian idly mused over whose face she would be picturing. 

"Well, I will see to this, then," the Commander said as he fingered the collar. 

The Inquisitor nodded and walked back towards the main keep with Blackwall sauntering back to his oaf-hole, leaving the two of them alone.  A glint of metal and the sheen of leather caught Dorian's eye as it twisted in gloved hands.  He never wanted to feel that vulnerable again.  He needed to learn a way of escaping if another collar found its way around his neck.  If this one was destroyed, how could he understand how it worked?  How could he stop someone else from using such a thing on him?

"Commander, this may seem like a strange request but I would not have it destroyed just yet.  May I take it for a while?  I should like to carry out some research.  If there is a way to remove these things, then..."

Dorian trailed off at the soft look given to him by the Commander.  A comforting smile followed and then the collar was being held out.

"Of course.  I hope you succeed."

**


	3. Gambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gambit: A sacrifice used to gain an early advantage in space or time in the opening.

_“Chess makes man wiser and clear-sighted” (Vladimir Putin)_

Just to spite Cassandra and out of annoyance that his previous Fade visit had been cut short at such an inopportune moment, he took another dose of lyrium just before he slept.  His reward was the same demon, in the same form, trying yet again to tempt him.  This time they were at the practice ring, with the demon having worked up a sweat, hair coiled wetly at the edges of his face.

"Back for more?" it asked, its demeanour now mimicking the Commander's forthright attitude of the day before.  This change in presence caught Dorian's attention and was a distinct improvement to the blushing Templar routine.  

"Well, we were so rudely interrupted last time and before I was able to inspect the merchandise properly."  Dorian licked his lips as the demon walked over discarding plates of armour on its way.  "No chess today?"

"It seemed to bore you last time."

"Oh, I can't help but think of it as a kind of verbal foreplay."

As the demon reached him, it pulled the part-sodden undershirt off in one decisive motion.  Standing brazenly before him, it then used the shirt to wipe down the front of his chest and under both arms before disposing it on the floor.

"Perhaps verbal foreplay is a little overrated," Dorian conceded.

He could smell lyrium again as he leaned in, realised that he was expecting to smell it.  The demon's version of the Commander was firmly fixed in his mind now with that errant detail and this time lyrium radiated off it in waves from the sweat that beaded over its skin.  The demon kissed at him tenaciously, drawing him close against that heated body.  Letting his hands wander, Dorian mapped out the expanse of sweat-slicked back before reaching further downwards, kneading at those still-unseen assets and determined to memorise the feel of them.  He moaned against the demon's mouth as it pulled back. 

"You approve?" it asked.

"I'm not sure," he lied with a flirtatious smile.  Taking advantage of the space between them, he drew a hand over the naked chest and ran it down to trail fingers softly over his belly, tracing the line of hair until his fingertips hovered where it disappeared into leather breeches.

"I don't think you're taking my offer seriously."

"Oh, very seriously," Dorian purred, letting his fingertips fall further so they ghosted over the front of its breeches.  "Why else would I be so thorough in my explorations?"

"So you can take as much as possible before turning me down?"

"Oh, you cynical thing.  How could you think so little of me?"

He moved to capture the demon's lips once more and the damned thing moved away. 

"Ah, that's all you get for now," it said with an annoyingly self-satisfied smirk on its face as it stepped from his arms completely.  "Unless you're willing to make a deal."

"Alas, not today.  I don't think I'm ready to make any sort of bargain based on what you've had to offer so far."  Dorian turned and walked away, letting his magic carry him out of the Fade, calling over his shoulder as he went, "Maybe next time you'll come up with something more inspiring."

He woke to a welcome heat at his groin and quickly palmed himself to satisfaction.  A nice dream, yes, but if only he could have persuaded the demon for a little more.  At least he got more of a show than the last time.  This thought brought him sharply out of his sleepy haze.  Last time.  The collar.  He had work to do.    

The next few days he was relentless in his dedication, even to the point of avoiding lyrium so he wouldn't run the risk of exquisite Fade visits distracting him.  His time was spent reading all he could find in the appallingly-equipped library, picking at food, muttering to himself about texts he knew of but had no way of obtaining without raising a few eyebrows and visiting Dagna for samples of different metals that could be used to pick the lock when it place.  In the evenings when he was too bleary-eyed to focus on words or think through his ideas properly, he drank alone in his room until he passed out.  He deliberately avoided company, feeling wary about conversations of how he had returned to Skyhold and all too aware of the muted background gossiping that went on as he traversed between his room, the kitchens, his hideaway in the library and the undercroft.   

He contemplated generating a magic field to disrupt the collar as it was being locked into place and felt confident that this could be achieved.  However, this would likely destroy it and leave him unable to carry out further research.  What if a collar was put on while he was, again, unconscious?  He needed to know that he could escape from it no matter what the circumstances.  Then came uncomfortable thoughts of how to test his ideas, which he quickly pushed to one side: he had no desire to experience wearing the thing again and he certainly wouldn't want anyone else to either, not even in the name of research. 

The interruption came while he was in the middle of berating a particularly-archaic Orlesian tome on the subjugation of magic - or more, precisely, the subjugation of apostate mages.  Boots clacked nearer over the tiled flooring, which he ignored, followed by a shape of a hovering annoyance standing in his periphery. 

"As you can see I'm rather busy," he snapped, steadfastly refusing to look away from the page that he had sworn at only moments before.  "Unless you're here to tell me Corypheus has overrun the keep, I suggest you keep walking."

"Apologies, Dorian, I hadn't seen you at the chess board since your return, so I thought I'd check on how your research was coming along.  I didn't mean to disturb you.  I'll go."

"Commander, wait."  Dorian dumped the offending book to the floor and stood, reaching out a hand to stop the man from leaving.  "I'm sorry," he added, "I shouldn't have been so abrupt.  I'm not making much headway at the moment and it's more than a little frustrating."

"Looks like you could do with a break."

"Yes, I suppose I could."

"Chess?"

A flashback to playing chess in the Fade with the excessively-coy demon came to mind.  Aside from the lure of the physical, that particular companion didn't appeal to him just then, but spending time in the real Commander's company did.  He smiled shamelessly and looked forward to the blushes.

"Such an offer!  How could I deprive the residents of Skyhold from seeing two handsome men playing with each other?"

"Indeed."

The cheeks reddened, as expected, but the accompanying smirk just before the Commander turned away was different to the coy smiles given by the demon, only he couldn't pinpoint how.  Following the Commander down to the garden, he considered the discrepancy.  He'd previously always focussed first and foremost on the blush.  Everything else had been coloured by this but that smirk was definitely less self-effacing than he'd previously assumed and more...  Oh, how best to describe it?  The phrase that came to mind was 'naughty-schoolboy-esque' and it seemed to fit the sassy Commander perfectly.

"Bull and Varric have been asking after you," the Commander said once they were seated.  "I suggested that you might want some space for the time being - was that the right thing to say?"

"Yes, thank you.  I'm not really in the right frame of mind to discuss what happened with all and sundry.  Not just yet.  I assume that Cassandra and Blackwall couldn't give a nug's arse how I am?"

"Cassandra's still smarting over losing her collar.  To say I'm not in her good books would be to put it mildly.  I haven't seen Blackwall - the Inquisitor says he's been keeping himself busy with wood carvings."  the Commander shifted awkwardly in his seat, a small frown creasing his brow.  "What Blackwall said, about your father...?"

He left the vague question hanging in the air and Dorian was tempted to ignore it completely.  It was a definite sore spot, but perhaps he could share a little given the support the Commander had shown him that day.

"I thought for a moment that I was back in Tevinter.  I certainly wasn't calling out for my father's help.  Let's just say I had a good reason for leaving." 

"I suspected something was amiss, but I never imagined...  Using something like that on your own son.  That's..." he trailed off as he looked back at Dorian.  "I'm sorry, this is making you uncomfortable.  We should talk about something else."

Dorian smiled in gratitude.  He was such a gentleman.  A sometimes sassy, gentleman with a naughty-schoolboy streak, but a gentleman though-and-through, nonetheless.  "You recognised the collar as soon as you saw it.  You've come across them before, I take it?"

"Yes, well, it was the expression on your face that I recognised first.  The collars were often used when I was at Kirkwall.  They used them... no, I'm ashamed to say, _we_ used them on the mages there who didn't submit to martial law.  The collars were a temporary alternative to being made Tranquil.  The way they looked when wearing them, well, it's a particular look that I don't think I shall ever forget.  It was part of what wore me down, made me step outside my orders and realise that what we were doing was wrong."

They fell into silence for a time, focussing on the game with Dorian wanting to lighten the now-sombre mood.  Any quips that came to mind felt inappropriate, however, and he wondered how people could do this: cheer up another without resorting to sexual innuendo and frippery.  In the end, it was the Commander who spoke first.

"Your research, it's important to me.  It might not be directly relevant to the immediate goals of the Inquisition, but I think it would help improve relations with mages across Thedas and rebuild the trust of those here at Skyhold - the atmosphere has been rather strained over the past few days.  If there's anything I can do to help, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Now that you mention it, there are a few books which should prove insightful.  My requests for such have not always been granted in the past.  Perhaps I could give you a list?"

"Absolutely.  I can put through a requisition order on your behalf."

Resisting the urge to laugh at the thought of Commander Cullen requesting one particular title, Dorian merely nodded his thanks.  "I'll write up the ones I need as soon as we're done here."

"Do you have any ideas at the moment?  Any leads on how the collar may be overcome?"

"No," Dorian replied instantly and then hesitated.  He wasn't being entirely truthful.  There were possibilities.  He might even be able to disrupt the way the collar worked already, but he had no way of knowing for certain.  "Well, yes, I have one idea but no way of testing it."

"What do you need?"

"To put it bluntly: a neck.  As you can imagine, I would not wish to impose that thing on another person - unless Blackwall was a mage.  The only other alternative would be to have someone put the collar on me - I'm sure you can understand my reluctance.  To willingly let myself be that vulnerable at the hands of another is not exactly at the top of my 'things to do anytime soon' list.  In case you haven't noticed, my ability to trust other people is not one of my finer qualities." 

As he explained, Dorian realised he was wrong, at least partially.  There _was_ someone he felt sure he could depend upon, someone who would not take advantage of the situation but would handle it like a perfect gentleman.

"I'd trust you, though," he added cautiously, wondering if the Commander would even be willing to do such a thing.

"You want me to..." the Commander began as he sat up straighter, appearing to take the admission very seriously.   

"I wouldn't use the word 'want', but yes.  In private, of course."

"Of course.  I'd be honoured, no, sorry, that's not quite what mean.  I, er... I'm pleased that you feel you can trust me.  It means a lot.  When would be convenient?  If you're eager to press on, I have time this afternoon."

"After our game?  When I've finished beating you?"

"Don't you mean 'when you've finished cheating'?"  And there it was, the sass, making Dorian smile.  "I'm still going to win, despite your appalling efforts to switch your pieces round."

Dorian gave up trying to win at that point, suddenly needing the game to be over as soon as possible.  He was abuzz with an unanticipated rush of nerves at the prospect of having the collar once more about his neck.  It wasn't long before defeat was upon him, but it also wasn't long before the Inquisitor was walking their way.

"Ah, Cullen, I was hoping to speak with you," she said, noting the obvious win for the Commander.  "Looks like I have perfect timing."

Appalling timing, Dorian thought miserably.  No doubt she would have something 'very important' for Cullen to do and whisk him away.  All that build up and now their experiment with the collar would have to be postponed.   

"Is it urgent?" the Commander asked, "Only I promised to help Dorian with some research." 

Dorian could feel himself gaping in surprise and quickly forced a more charming - and less vulnerable - veneer to his face.

"No, I suppose it can wait.  Perhaps you could find me when you're done?"

Feeling smug was good for the soul, Dorian reflected to himself as they made their way up to his room.  The Commander had put his research first, without even asking what the Inquisitor wanted.  It wasn't often that he found himself being placed top of somebody else's list.  In fact, he couldn't recall another instance of that ever happening, certainly not in the past few years. 

As soon as they entered, Dorian bent down to retrieve the collar from a locked chest under his bed.

"Sparser than I would have imagined, but I see you have all your essentials," the Commander observed, his voice sounding amused.  "Books, wine, full-length mirror, excessively large wardrobe."

"Bed large enough for two," Dorian added with a quirk to his lips, eliciting another blush and naughty-schoolboy smirk in response.  He held out the collar and began to explain about the locking mechanism, that the pad of a thumb or finger could be used to activate and deactivate it, but was interrupted part-way.

"Yes, I am aware how to do this.  As I said, I have used these before."

The Commander took it from him and leaned in to reach around his neck, unaware of the shiver that Dorian suppressed due to how close they were now standing.  There was no smell of lyrium, and his scent was not so much of leather and metal oil as Dorian had previously imagined but a rich mixture of elderflower and oak.  The Commander hesitated just before fixing the collar with his thumb.

"Are you sure?"

Dorian gave a slight nod, careful to avoiding brushing his jaw against the Commander's hands, and swore internally at how jittery it was making him feel.  Taking his usual avoidance tactics, he covered the uncertainty with a glib comment and a wink.

"As long as you promise not to try and take advantage of me." 

"I promise to be a complete gentleman". 

"How disappointing," he replied coyly, drawing an  amused chuckle from the Commander in response.

Then the collar was clicked into place.

He had only experienced having a collar fixed on him while conscious once before and, although he could remember what to expect, the sudden pull of magic inwards towards the leather band still took him aback.  The pain was sharp and, for a second or two, all consuming.  The lack of magic left him weak at the knees, making him swoon and he was grateful that the Commander had stayed close enough to catch him by the arms before guiding him over to sit on the edge of his bed.    

After a few moments to get his bearings, he started to tentatively feel around it, trying to find the place where a small clip folded over one edge.  If he was right, slipping a metal pick into the rivet underneath should disrupt the way it drew on his magic to keep the lock fastened tight.  He poked gingerly with the pick and was annoyed to be on the receiving end of an electric shock. 

"Vishante kaffas!"

He tried again, more forcefully, and this time the shock was big enough to knock him backwards on the bed.

"This isn't going to work," he admitted in defeat.  "Please, take it off."

In a sulk, he remained lying where he was, determined to get some smidgen of recompense for his failure.  His position meant the Commander had to kneel on the bed and rest one hand for support deliciously close to Dorian's face.  He could feel fingers shaking unsteadily against his throat as the thumbprint was pressed, taste the warm breath over his face, saw the Commander's profile up close and resisted, barely, the urge to move inwards, to have that stubble brushing against his cheek.  Maybe he should have another dose of lyrium that night.

As soon as the collar was unclasped, the Commander hastily moved away and Dorian could hear him placing it back into the chest. 

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"Top shelf in the wardrobe.  Bottle of brandy.  I only have one glass but I'm happy to share."

"I'll pass."  The sounds of a door being opened and then liquid being poured finally prompted Dorian to sit upright.  "Are you sure this is wise?" the Commander asked as he handed over the snifter.

"It's what my constitution's used to.  If you're concerned I'm going to drink myself into a stupor, you needn't worry.  Just a glass to settle my nerves and then I fully intend to return to the library and continue working.  I want to get the better of this damned thing as soon as possible.

"Before you get back to the Inquisitor, this is the list of books I need," he continued, reaching for paper and quill on the desk next to him and swiftly jotting down titles and authors.  He folded the page and handed it over, adding, "Thank you, Commander.  Although I have yet to succeed, it is most reassuring to know that you are willing to help me."

"Cullen, call me Cullen."

"Very well, my dear Cullen."

"Chess tomorrow?"

"That would be wonderful."

**


	4. Blockade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blockade: A placement of a piece which prevents other pieces from advancing

_“Strategy requires thought, tactics require observation” (Max Euwe)_

"I'm not overly delighted at your choice of location."

Back in the Fade, but this time he was in his room with the demon in his bed.  Apparently naked in his bed - from what Dorian could tell, given how his sheets were draped over the lower part of Cullen's torso.

"I had the impression that you were quite tempted in here not so long ago," the demon succinctly pointed out.  All the while it spoke, the damned thing idly rubbed fingers along its jaw line, purposefully rasping its nails against stubble. 

It was this specific detail which Dorian found so disconcerting. Only the day before he had been inches away from the real thing, wanting to press his face against Cullen's.  Boundaries were starting to blur and he began to wonder whether taking lyrium again had been such a good idea. 

"Tempted, yes, but not by you."

"Nevertheless, I've given some thought to our last encounter.  Maybe I was a little hasty.  Maybe you _should_ get the full experience of what this body can offer you."  It shifted to lounge on one side and make room for Dorian.  "Are you ever going to find out what that's like in the flesh?  I seriously doubt it."

A hand snaked under the sheets and Dorian watched transfixed by the sight of those sheets moving up and down as the demon brazenly pleasured itself.

"Wouldn't you rather be touching me yourself?" it asked in between gentle moans.  "Won't you come over here and let me undress you?"

Fasta vass! Dorian thought, why was he even hesitating?  It's just a demon; it's not Cullen.  It's there for the taking and, if nothing else, maybe it would get his fascination with Cullen's physique out of his system once and for all.  Maker knew the demon was right: bedding Cullen was never going to be an actual thing.  Time to do what he did best in Tevinter: have sex then move on.  It had always worked before, hadn't it?

He had started to unbuckle his leathers before he even made it to the bed, and the demon's hands were waiting to continue the job as soon as he was in reach.  Templar fingers pulling on straps, that face so close, so intent its focus on divesting him from unwanted clothing, warm lyrium-infused breaths keeping him grounded.  Shrugging off his garments as soon as the demon had undone them, it wasn't long before they were lying skin on sweat-slicked skin, mouth to panting mouth, groin to heated groin, hands wandering and grasping and pulling each other ever closer.  As they moved fluidly, bodies grinding together in a frantic rut, Dorian broke their open-mouthed kisses, pushing at the demon's head, urging it downwards to his neck, gasping when he finally felt the desired rough scratch of unshaven cheek, the sound of Cullen's moan resonating against his throat.  It was glorious.   

"Would you like to have this rubbed somewhere else?" The demon murmured against the lobe of his ear.  "See these lips wrapped around you?"

"Kaffas! You know the answer to that."

The demon gave a husky laugh and pushed Dorian onto his back.  With hooded eyes, it worked its way down his body, licking at the hollow of his neck and along his collar bone, stopping to rub an unshaven cheek across each hardened nipple, drawing whimpers from Dorian in its wake.  Further downwards, making him shiver from the twin sensations of being tickled and scratched over his belly until the brush of facial hair chafed exquisitely along the length of his cock.  It fixed its gaze on Dorian's and, in one flowing movement, wrapped its lips around him all the way to the hilt and sucked back up, never once breaking eye contact.  With the demon down there, he could no longer smell lyrium, he could no longer hear the difference in the way the demon spoke; it was just Cullen's face looking up at him, Cullen's mouth swallowing him deeply, lips moistened and plump as they worked at his shaft.  Dorian squeezed his eyes shut at the vision before him but couldn't shake the image from his mind and, all too soon, he was coming, biting at his lower lip to avoid crying out Cullen's name. 

Melting back into the bed, Dorian drifted for a time, not thinking of anything, just riding the gentle waves of post-orgasmic bliss as each breath for air became softer, slower.  The demon shifted next to him, moving to lie alongside him once more, traced a finger along his jaw.  Opening his eyes, he saw the face of Cullen lean in and then lips were pressing gently against him, a residual taste of his own essence on Cullen's - no, the demon's - tongue.

The sound of knocking in the background brought him out of his drowsy stupor.  The real world was calling. 

As he stepped from the Fade and woke to his real, empty bed, the knocking came again, three sharp raps at his door.  Dorian pulled himself upright and staggered over to open it, not caring how dishevelled he looked for once.  He squinted at the brightness of the sun outside and realised how late he must have slept in for it to be so high up in the sky.  The silhouette of  a scout stood in the doorway.

"Sorry for disturbing you, Ser.  I have a message from Commander Cullen."

Dorian gave a nod of thanks and took the note that the scout held out.  Shutting the door, he rubbed at the sleep in his eyes and sat at his desk.

                _Apologies, Dorian, but I am unwell.  Will have to postpone today's game of chess._

_Cullen_

Unwell?  He had seemed fine yesterday when they had parted.  What could have happened to him so quickly?  The handwriting was uneven as if written with a shaking hand, nothing like Cullen's usually fine script, and then it struck Dorian as rather touching that he had even bothered to send a note at all.  Most days, chess was left as an unspoken arrangement, if they were free they would meet in the gardens after lunch and if either of them arrived to find the chess board empty, then it was generally assumed that something important had come up.  Today, Cullen had altered the way they conducted their games, had gone out of his way to do so.  Yesterday, too, when he had ventured up to the library, Dorian realised, and a mixture of guilt and concern stirred within him.  After the help that Cullen had offered with the collar, Dorian now felt the impulse to do something in return, but what could he offer? 

In the end he opted for the standard proffered gift in Tevinter when a friend was ill: chicken soup. The kitchen staff were more than happy to help and let it slip that Cullen hadn't eaten anything that day.  He felt faintly ridiculous as he made his way from the rotunda towards Cullen's room carrying a semi-filled bowl covered with a small plate: as if the Commander of the Inquisition's forces wasn't capable of surviving without a Tevinter mage bringing him soup.  Still, it was the gesture that counted, wasn't it? 

He was greeted by a soldier barring his way.

"No one is to disturb the Commander today."

"But, I've brought soup..." Dorian trailed off lamely and then tried again.  "Can I at least--"

He stopped mid-sentence as the door opened and Cassandra appeared.  She looked less than pleased with his presence.

"What do you want?"

He moved the plate to one side and said, "It's for Cullen.  I understand he's unwell."

Her brow furrowed as she scrutinised him for a moment, eyes flicking between him and the bowl, almost as if suspecting him of some ulterior motive. 

"It's not poisoned, for goodness sake!"

"He can't eat."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He is ill.  That is all you need to know."

With that curt response, she brushed past him and walked off in the direction of the main building, leaving him bowl in hand and feeling rather silly for attempting to help at all.  Well, if Cullen wasn't going to eat it, then Dorian wasn't going to let it go to waste.  He had no doubt the kitchen staff, assuming it was for the Commander, would have put their best - albeit, limited-by-their-southern-ineptitude - efforts into making it.

He ate in his alcove in the library, not caring one whit that he spilled some on the text he had pilfered from the armoury.  Although prompting some useful ideas in its descriptions of how Templar abilities such as 'silence' were able to suppress magic abilities for a time, the Way of the Templar's supercilious tone towards mages infuriated him.  This only added to his annoyance at Cassandra's brusqueness which kept coming back to distract him.  Yes, she was undoubtedly going to blame Dorian for the loss of her collar for some time to come, but it didn't mean she had to treat him like shit on her shoe for giving a damn about Cullen.  The fact that she had been deliberately evasive was also niggling at him.  Turning the page, and depositing more droplets of soup on it in the process, Dorian came across the heading 'On the Handling of Lyrium' which was when several things clicked into place all at once and he realised that Cullen had stopped taking lyrium.

The initial feeling was one of smugness at being able to put the pieces together, followed by concern.  If Cullen was suffering from lyrium withdrawal, Dorian didn't doubt for one second that it wasn't being dealt with properly.  The Chantry had no desire to research how to improve conditions for those who no longer took it.  After all, it would diminish their hold on Templars, remove their ability to punish by cutting rations and leave them unable to stop Templars from just walking away from the Order.   He wondered at how, despite living with regular bouts of lyrium withdrawal, Cullen still managed to present such a steadfast face to the world.  Dorian couldn't help but admire the man.

Soup-encrusted book pushed to one side, he abandoned his own research and headed down to the undercroft.  Lyrium withdrawal was one thing he _could_ help with.  Some potion ingredients from Dagna, with a couple of the rarer and more expensive ones from his own personal supplies, and he would have something to help settle Cullen's nerves.  It would take two days to prepare and, hopefully, Cullen would be better by then, but at least he could provide him with some relief during future episodes.  He fleetingly considered another method used in Tevinter for lyrium withdrawal before firmly putting that notion out of his mind.  He could suggest it, yes, but it certainly wouldn't do to dwell on the act.  If carried out, it had to be for Cullen's benefit and not for his own personal gratification: after all, Dorian _was_ capable of being a perfect gentleman, too.

**


	5. Sharp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharp: Risky, double-edged, highly tactical. Sharp can be used to describe moves, manoeuvres, positions and styles of play.

_“You have to have the fighting spirit. You have to force moves and take chances” (Bobby Fischer)_

Two days later and he had the first batch of potion ready, but the soldiers were still diligently keeping guard by Cullen's rooms and refusing him entrance.  Unsure how much they knew, Dorian said nothing of his potion and returned to his own research, keeping the vials on him just in case Cullen made an appearance.  When studying the collar in private, he realised his mistake in using a metal pick which would act as a perfect conductor of electricity, increasing the ability of the collar to shock him.  A wood such as dragonthorn or sylvanwood was much less likely to trigger that particularly objectionable outcome.  Dagna said she had the supplies he needed to hand and he collected the newly-whittled picks from her the following morning. 

It was on his way back from the undercroft when the Inquisitor caught up with him.

"Dorian, how are you faring?  That collar, I'm so very sorry....  It's just at the time, I didn't know--"

"Don't you dare explain away your actions," he snapped peevishly.  "I'm still cross with you."  Dorian faltered at the broken look on her face and added, "That was ungracious of me.  I suppose it's Cassandra who I'm still angry with and there's no point in voicing that in her presence: I don't relish the thought of being on the end of her sword again."

"It won't happen again, I promise."

He couldn't help wondering why she was feeling the need to apologise once more today and had the distinct impression that she was softening him up for a reason.   

"You're after something.  What is it?"

"Oh, is it that obvious?  Well, I do have a trip to the Hinterlands planned for tomorrow.  It would be good if you could accompany me."

"Who else will be going?  If it includes Cassandra or Blackwall, I think you know my answer."

"Only myself, Bull and Cole.  Could you be persuaded?"

Dorian considered this briefly.  The thought of being out in the field once more had been an unacknowledged worry after the last time, but this might prove to be the opportunity he needed to keep his hand in.  After all, he didn't expect to be collared by any of them and he certainly didn't intend to take any lyrium - that could wait until his return, if he had the urge - as long as...

"No dragons," he said firmly.

"We'll be going directly to Redcliffe so Bull will be kept well away from the Fereldan Frostback."

 "In that case, I'll join you." 

They parted ways, and Dorian chose to take his notes and another text to work on in the gardens.  Fresh air and, of course, there would be no risk of missing Cullen should he be available for chess that day.  While reading, he also realised that going to Redcliffe might also prove to be a good break from his research.  As much as he adored books, he knew that time away from them was sometimes necessary to free the mind and let a bit of imagination play with the newfound knowledge.  Only an hour or so later, he was pleased to see the man make an appearance and that he looked as well as usual.  He was doubly pleased that Cullen caught sight of him and immediately came straight over. 

"Good afternoon, Dorian, I understand you're going to the Hinterlands tomorrow.  I didn't know if you'd be busy getting ready."

"It's only a trip to Redcliffe, hardly a warzone.  I have time for game, if you'd like to play with me."

Cullen laughed easily at the innuendo as he nodded, with his cheeks flushing in response as usual.  Together, they wandered over to the board and began to set up the pieces.

"It's good to see you're feeling better, Cullen."

"Er, yes.  Cassandra mentioned you popped by.  Although I wasn't able to eat, I do appreciate the sentiment."

"I have to admit I'm surprised she said anything about me being there.  I swear she thought I was trying to poison you."

"She can be quite protective at times."

"So she's forgiven you for taking away the collar now?"

"Not quite forgiven, but we've managed to move past it.  We don't talk about what happened and things seem to be okay between us."

"Does she know it's in my possession for research purposes?"

"Ah, I, er... may have failed to mention that."

As they started to play, Dorian realised he was waiting for the 'right moment' to bring up what he knew.  This was an uncommon state for him to be in: bluntness was more his forte.  When there was something to discuss, then it should be said - no point in avoiding a perfectly good opportunity to spend time talking.  It was, after all, one of his favourite pastimes.  So why the hesitation?  He mulled over the words he needed to say and a picture of Cullen looking very uncomfortable came to mind.  Did that really bother him?  The thought of making Cullen uncomfortable?  No, that was ridiculous.  He was being silly, of course he didn't--.

"You're uncharacteristically quiet today.  Are you okay?"

"What, oh yes, just lost in thought.  Look, Cullen, I know it was lyrium withdrawal," he blurted out, not giving himself the chance to dally over it any longer.  In response, there was the look of discomfort facing him, leaving Dorian with a bitter taste in his mouth that he had put such an expression there.  Cullen sat quite still, restrained panic flaring in his eyes, his hands paused on the piece he had just picked up.  "I haven't told anyone and I won't, but I do want to help."

"I...  I don't... it's not that easy," Cullen stammered as he placed the piece haphazardly on the board, opening himself up for Dorian to move ahead without cheating for a change.  "Really, there's very little that can be done."

"Certainly not with soup."  To Dorian's relief, Cullen laughed lightly with him at this comment and it gave him the motivation to persist.  "I've seen the effects of a withdrawal phase before and it amazes me how well you seem to be holding up, especially if you've been taking the Chantry line and assuming that it's something to be suffered and only lived through if you're lucky."

"If there were better ways of dealing with it, I'm sure I would have heard of them by now.  Both Cassandra and I have looked into this, the Inquisitor, too, and there's little to no advice on what to do other than begin taking lyrium again if the withdrawals get too bad."

"Those two may know much about tactics in battle and weird elfish rituals, but I hardly consider them to be the foremost scholars in this place.  You've not asked for more academic help in the matter?"

"No one else knows and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

Dorian reached down to the pouch of vials hanging from his belt.  Unwrapping the leather bindings, he offered the bag to Cullen, glass clinking within as it hung from his fingers. 

"This is a Tevinter remedy.  It won't stop the withdrawal phases but it does help the circulation so your hands won't feel so cold and it stills the mind somewhat, which should make you feel more at ease and reduce the tendency for unsettling dreams.  Take one a day once you feel a withdrawal start to come on.  Once made, they last for about two months, but let me know if you get down to your last two vials before then as it will take a couple of days for me to brew another batch."

"I... I don't know what to say.  Thank you.  This... this is most unexpected."

"Consider it as a thank you of my own.  I don't like to think of you suffering unnecessarily."

Cullen gave him a warm smile that lit up his eyes, his expression completely open in a way that Dorian had never seen on him before.  He felt disconcertingly trapped in that gaze for a moment before Cullen looked away, down at the pouch to open it and remove a vial, turning it in a hand, watching as liquid inside swirled around in the brown-tinted glass.    

"I never realised that lyrium withdrawal would be a problem in Tevinter," Cullen said as he put the vial away and strapped the pouch to his own belt.

"There are a few mages who overdo their consumption of it and suffer the consequences in the long run.  A friend of the family suffered from withdrawals.  She had this potion made up to help and surrounded herself with slaves to take care of her, mop up the sick, clean and change sweat-soaked clothes and linens, bring her water, dose out the potion."  Dorian bit his lip uncertainly and then added, "She had one kept specifically for the regular massages."

"Massages?"

"It help soothes the aching, stops the muscles from shaking so much and, if done right, relaxes you enough so you can fall asleep afterwards.  Sleeping through as much of it as possible can help the withdrawals pass quicker.  Have you never tried?" 

"No.  I'd not even considered it before.  And it's not as though there's anyone here I could just ask to do such a thing."

"Not Cassandra or the Inquisitor, then?" 

"Certainly not!" 

Dorian chuckled at the appalled look on Cullen's face and somewhere inside he felt relief that Cullen wouldn't be contemplating asking either of them in the near future. 

"I would be willing," he began tentatively, "to offer my services." 

"Er..." 

"And I am _good._ Learned from the best in a fantastic Tevinter brothel."  At Cullen's startled - and rather spooked - expression, he quickly added, "Oh don't worry, it would be purely professional.  For a start, it needn't involve a bed - sat at your desk would be fine.  And any nakedness would be quite unnecessary; although you would have to remove that appalling rug and ugly armour plating."

Cullen laughed at the insult to his armour and Dorian was pleased to see him relax as the initial knee-jerk horror at his offer subsided. 

"Seriously, I just want to help.  As I said before, I don't like the idea of your suffering through a withdrawal by yourself." 

"I'll think about it."

They went back to playing a few moves of chess in silence, with Cullen trying to repair the damage of his earlier bad move and Dorian considering a change in topic to clear the air.  To his surprise, Cullen beat him to it, albeit using Dorian's words as an unexpected segue back to his research.

"Speaking of Tevinter brothels..." Dorian looked up at him in a stunned silence, both at the choice of words and at the naughty-schoolboy tone to his voice.  "Those books that you ordered arrived yesterday evening.  One of them did raise a few eyebrows when I picked them up from the requisition officer.  I think you can guess which one."

"Ah, that would be _The Sexual Elite_."

"I find it hard to believe you requested that for your research.  Was it just to embarrass me or do you need it for more personal reasons?"

"Actually, I can assure you it is related to the collar.  There was no ulterior motive but, I must admit, the thought of you being the one to order it in did amuse me somewhat.  You did, after all, put the requisition through without checking what would be on it."

"I won't be making that mistake again."

"So did you have a little peek inside?"  There had been a subtle reddening to Cullen's cheeks since the first mention of massage, but now it blossomed into a fully-fledged blush, a stark contrast to his blonde hair.  "You did, didn't you."

"Maybe a quick glance or two, but that's _all_ I'm going to say on the subject."

"Oh you rotten tease.  You won't even tell me your favourite bits?"

"I'm waiting to hear why you think it will help," Cullen replied stubbornly, although the blush and smirk belied his serious tone.

"Well, apart from being used on wayward sons and the occasional slave, collars are used by some in Tevinter as a more extreme form of bondage.  A collar and a few ropes and one is... well, _completely_ at another's mercy.  If I were to put myself in such a situation, there would be no chance of a spark of magic setting me free.  No escape from any delicious torture a lover may want to carry out.  My body would be entirely theirs to do with as they wished."  The hang of Cullen's bottom jaw, the way he unconsciously licked his lips and the slight change to his breathing as Dorian spoke were all very distracting and he found himself becoming a tad too tight in his breeches.  He wondered if he should rein it in slightly.  "There's a whole section on how to use them, explanations on the different mechanisms employed, along with safety considerations.  I was hoping for a little inspiration - not of the sexual sort, I assure you."

"Have you ever...?" Cullen asked with a coy smirk.

"No!"

"Being tied up not to your taste?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't say that."  Dorian focussed on his words carefully, making sure his pronunciation was crisp and clear to avoid the risk of his voice exposing just how much he was enjoying this particular conversation.  They were nearing the end of their game and he started to worry that standing up would be a bit of a problem when they were done.  He also knew the temptation to continue flirting mercilessly with Cullen would be very hard to resist.  "But you know I have trust issues.  Getting caught in flagrante delicto and being unable to do anything about it is most unwise in Tevinter.  By the way, do you have a mind to putting me in a vulnerable position when we're done here?"

This last comment caught Cullen off guard and he stuttered beautifully for a few seconds before realising the more innocent intent behind it.

"You want some more help with your research."

"Why, of course, my dear Cullen.  What else could I have possibly meant?"

With the intimacy of letting Cullen put the collar on him once more on the horizon, Dorian eased up on the sexual overtones from that point.  He needed to take the tension down a notch and knew, if he didn't, there was a risk that his now abating erection would make a reappearance when they were alone and in such close quarters in his room.  That would not bode well should he be unsuccessful and need the man's assistance again. 

As it was, Cullen was also quite willing to let the tone in conversation rise back up to a more acceptable level and, with the sexual tension diffused, Dorian's fears of becoming inappropriately distracted did not come to pass.  When it came to this second attempt on the collar, his idea to change from metal to wood was not enough to enable him to unlock the mechanism; on the plus side, he received no electric shocks.  However, the placement of the pick was wrong, so wrong that it triggered some sort of cascade in the collar making it draw more strongly on his magical pool until he passed out completely.  He awoke to Cullen pressing a cool, damp cloth across his brow, the collar having been taken off already.

"You had me worried."

"Never fear: I was in the hands of a highly competent and very charming soldier.  I think I was right to place my trust in him."

"Competent _and_ charming?  Perhaps you should introduce me."

It was a light-hearted and gentle way to end a most enjoyable afternoon.  He had clearly underestimated Cullen before and suspected he was now becoming unreasonably fond of him.  What was more unnerving was the notion that although he still had no urge to openly invite the man to his bed, it was no longer because of the coy stereotype he had once assumed to be the case.  No, his desires were far more foolish than that and they were definitely too much to hope for: the thought of Cullen leaving him after a single night of pleasure was not a pleasant one.  And as much as he wanted to take some more lyrium before he retired to bed, to distract himself and his new found weakness with a willing demon, he didn't dare, not with the trip to Redcliffe the next day.  Sleep did not come easily that night.

**


	6. Coffeehouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coffeehouse: Adjective used to describe a move, player, or style of play characterized by risky, positionally dubious play that sets traps for the opponent.

_“Chess is a cold bath for the mind” (Sir John Simon)_

It had all been a deliberate ruse.   A lie by omission.  Damn Madame Giselle and her meddling and damn that blasted Inquisitor for going along with it.  How dare she put him in that situation without his knowledge?  True, he hadn't been kidnapped and manhandled back to Qarinus, but she hadn't even considered there might have been risks.  She hadn't even stopped to think about why the letter had insisted he wasn't to be told about the meeting.  It should have been Dorian's decision to make, not hers. 

His familiar habit of sulking was easy to fall into on the journey back and he moaned about every mundane thing he could think of: the lousy weather, the uncomfortable carriage, the sodding mud, the ghastly bears, but mostly about the weather.  He certainly had no intentions of talking about the finer details of what he'd previously been through.  Yes, an allusion to blood magic had been made in front of the Inquisitor but that had been said in a heated moment and he regretted sharing even that much.  He made it quite clear when they left Redcliffe that nothing more was ever going to be said on the subject.

When they made the switch from carriage to horse for the final day and a half's trek, his verbose complaints tailed off.  He had calmed down enough to ride in a petulant silence and tried to improve his mood with thoughts of his last afternoon with Cullen, which brought a warm smile to his face.  This hadn't lasted long, though, thanks to Cole.  The blasted spirit had only taken it upon himself to get inside his head again. 

"Dorian, how can you have touched him and yet not touched him?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're blathering on about."

"Sweet kisses that taste bitter.  Lips that are his, but not.  Scent of breath jars, doesn't smell right." 

So he snapped at Cole and the Inquisitor had snapped at him for snapping at Cole and all the while Dorian was painfully aware of the Bull scrutinising him intently.

The only positive aspect to the trip was a moment of inspiration on the journey out: to use a metal pick on webbing at the back of the collar that had no direct effect on the mechanism but did help to channel his magic through it.  This should disrupt the flow of magic and, once in place, use of a wooden pick on the front rivet might actually unhinge the lock.  Wanting to try again soon and wanting to spend time with someone he trusted, Dorian made his way to the gardens as soon as they arrived at Skyhold.  It was after midday and if he spent time freshening up first, he would probably be too late to catch Cullen there.  On his way through the main hall, he ran into the man making his way from the rotunda.

"Ah, how fortuitous, Cullen.  Are you free for a game?" 

"You've only just got back, haven't you?  Don't you want to unwind first?" 

"I'm sure chess will do that marvellously.  In fact, I think it's rather essential right now.  If I don't, I fear I may not be able to resist the urge to garrotte a certain Inquisitor.  But I will understand if you've no desire to sit with me while I am in such a foul mood."

A flash of worry passed across Cullen's face, which instantly helped to take the edge off of Dorian's agitated frame of mind.  It was nice to know that someone cared.

"That's fine.  We can play chess."

"Apologies for the unappealing odour," Dorian said, suddenly feeling self-conscious as they walked together to the gardens.

"I've smelled far worse.  In fact..."  Cullen paused, leant over and pointedly sniffed over Dorian's shoulder, laughing quietly.  "Only someone like you could arrive sweating from half a day's ride and still manage to come up smelling like the proverbial rose!"

This left Dorian smiling for the first time that day and it remained in place while they set up the pieces and began to play.  It was only when Cullen asked him what had occurred in Redcliffe that his smile faltered.

"It was all a set up.  The Inquisitor took me to a secret meeting with my father, organised by him and Madame bloody Giselle."

"Oh Maker.  Are you all right?"

"Better than I could've been, I suppose.  It wasn't as though I was asleep so he could get another of his hired thugs to slip a collar around my neck like last time." 

"Will you tell me what happened?"

"We turned up to find the Gull and Lantern empty, except _he_ was there.  The Inquisitor was expecting the family's retainer, so even she was surprised to see him.  We argued.  We talked.  He _apologised,_ " Dorian said, spitting the word out with distaste.  "Wants me to forgive him.  I don't think I can." 

"No," Cullen said with a slight shake to his head.  "That's not what I meant.  Tell me what happened before - before you left Tevinter."

He felt a sharp tug to his gut as he thought back to the events that led to him abandoning his home.  The events that changed everything, including the way he had looked up to his father, but he could do this, he realised, talk to Cullen about his past.  Wanted to, even.

"In case you hadn't noticed, my tastes lie with men, which is not really the done thing in Tevinter - only as a 'hobby', kept behind closed doors while you play at being the good husband, which I wasn't prepared to do.  My public dalliances became too much for my father to bear and he decided to rein me in once and for all.  I was staying with a friend - his family were away, so just the two of us, if you catch my drift - and this proved to be one scandal too many.  Father sent in some hired goons to fetch me.  Apparently, they were watching us fuck each other and waited for us to fall asleep before putting a collar on me - to stop me from lashing out, they bound my wrists and ankles, had me wrapped in a blasted cloak of all things and shipped me back to Qarinus practically naked.  I never saw him again - the last I heard his parents had successfully married him off."

Dorian took a deep breath, steeling himself to continue, to share more, to share something he'd never been able to trust with anyone else. 

"That moment when I woke, the utter panic flooding through me when I realised I was powerless against them, I can't explain how that felt.  I couldn't walk with my ankles strapped up, so I was carried, beaten whenever I fought back.  They said they could do things to me that would put me off men for life.  They didn't - probably feared evisceration at the hands of my father - but I couldn't be sure they wouldn't.  That fear kept me awake for most of the journey home.  At first, I didn't sleep for several days straight until I was too exhausted not to.  Since leaving Tevinter, I have gone out of my way to avoid being in such a position, until Cassandra had me reliving that bloody moment."     

Startled by just how much he had revealed, Dorian closed his eyes and swallowed back bile as he remembered the details of that night and the journey which were forever burned into his mind, remembered waking up to the point of Cassandra's sword when fear had overtaken him once more.  The feel of Cullen's hand resting on his, squeezing gently, thumb stroking against his skin broke his train of thought, prompting him to open his eyes, to find Cullen gazing at him fondly, concern lining his brow. 

"What happened after?"

"When we arrived home, the collar was taken off and re-placed so another's thumb print could be used.  In the changeover, my father stood ready with his staff as he was all too aware of how dangerous I was likely to be, but it meant someone else had to be responsible for locking the collar.  He chose one of our slaves, Rilenus, and made it very clear that if the collar was taken off or I caused trouble in any way, Rilenus would be the one to suffer the consequences.  I was very fond of him and father was all too aware of that fact, the manipulative bastard.  He kept me a prisoner in my own home for months.

"I noticed when a few odd supplies started to arrive at the house, including a tome on blood magic rituals and then I overheard a conversation between my parents.  They planned use blood magic to try and _change_ me, make me the son they wanted, make me more _amenable_  to marriage and all that that entailed.  I knew then that I had to get away, for good."

"What about Rilenus?"

"I offered him freedom away from Tevinter, persuaded him to unlock the collar.  Once we'd made it out of Qarinus, I nearly asked him to come south with me."   

"But you didn't?  You don't strike me as someone who's backward in coming forward."

"Ah, my dear Cullen, this facade I like to put on is all just fluff and bluster: I'm not half so brave about such things as I like to appear.   My ego is far too fragile and I was well aware that he was keen to return to his family.  I didn't relish the thought of being turned down, you see.  Foolish, I know.  I may flirt outrageously and make a show of being confident, but I don't actually have the courage to admit what I really want.  I'd rather push someone away than expose myself and risk hearing that they didn't want me."

Suddenly aware that Cullen's hand was still resting on his own, Dorian inhaled sharply and pulled his away, making a point of using it to move one of his pieces.  All this talk, all these admissions, had left him feeling closer to Cullen, more than he felt he had a right to.  While it had been good to finally get it off his chest, letting his fondness for the man get away with him was certainly not wise.  He needed to divert the conversation, change the mood. 

"You hide it well, Dorian."

"An essential lesson for those who play the game at court and wish to do so successfully in Tevinter.  Double-dealings, assassination, political misdirection - you can't navigate these things without being able to mask your weaknesses.  Display any vulnerability and somebody somewhere will be ready and waiting to use it to their own advantage." 

"I hope you know that's something I would never do."

"You certainly are a refreshing change from what I usually expect in others.  It's an unusual feeling to be able to trust someone.  Which reminds me, I did have another idea for the collar while I was on that appalling trip."

"I have time today.  By the way, I left those books you ordered in your room."

"Have you been reading any of them more thoroughly?  Will I find any dog-eared corners within their pages giving away your personal fantasies?"

"Dorian."  

To Dorian's surprise, Cullen's face was hardened, impassive, the single word said with a tone of warning, telling him not to persist.    

"What?  Am I no longer allowed to tease you?"

"Not when you're like this."

"Like what?"

"Off.  Unsettled."

"I'm not--" Dorian started to protest but his words stopped at the pointed look that Cullen was giving him.  "Fine.  I will wait until I am no longer 'unsettled' and then I will tease you mercilessly.  Is that allowed?"

Cullen's face softened and, to Dorian's immense relief, he nodded. 

The testing of the collar felt routine, professional even.  The familiar ritual of having Cullen lock it into place went without incident or awkwardness.  His ideas did not work, however, and the use of the metal pick gave him electric shocks once more, albeit smaller ones than he had experienced during the first attempt.

"I'm not comfortable with the thought of seeing you pass out again."

"Very well, I'll admit defeat for today, do some more research.  You can take it off now."

Only he couldn't: the damn thing wouldn't unlock and Dorian felt a frisson of panic start to creep through him as he perched stiffly on the edge of the bed contemplating the thought of the collar now being a permanent fixture.  His heart started to race and as much as he tried to keep his breathing in check, he couldn't stop it from getting faster and faster, swift, light breaths that left  him feeling dizzy and nauseous.

"Shh, calm down," Cullen soothed as he knelt down in front of him, moving one hand to his shoulder and another to cup Dorian's face gently.  "I'm not about to leave you like this.  Let's just take a moment and I'll try again." 

His proximity and touch was reassuring and Dorian let himself be pacified by the feel of Cullen's palm and fingers as they pressed against his cheek.  He closed his eyes and let himself lean into it, steadying himself, telling himself that it would be all right: of course he wouldn't be locked into this detestable thing forever.  To his disappointment, the hand on his cheek moved away to rest on his other shoulder and he opened his eyes once more to meet Cullen's worried gaze.  He wanted nothing more in that moment than to lean in and be held, have those strong arms wrapped around him. 

"How did you know I had stopped taking lyrium?  Did Cassandra or the Inquisitor say something?"

The question surprised him, shocking him out of his wistful reverie, and he suspected it was being asked not only because Cullen was curious but also to help distract him.  Grateful for the diversion, Dorian played along, letting it take his mind away from thoughts of being trapped without magic.

"No, neither of them let it slip.  You don't smell like other Templars.  It's in their sweat, on their breath.  I'm ashamed to admit that I was a little slower on the uptake than I'd normally give myself credit for."   

"When have you got close enough to a Templar to smell lyrium on his breath?" Cullen asked with a puff of laughter and his adorable, naughty-schoolboy smirk.

"Oh, I never kiss and tell, Cullen.  Why, are you jealous?"

"I'm interested to know which of my soldiers you've been corrupting."

"And you automatically assume it's me who would be the one to corrupt them?  Well, you needn't worry about me leading anyone astray: when they drink to excess at the Herald's Rest, they just have a habit of leaning in far too close during their drunken prattling.  The reek of their foul, ale-sodden breaths is most unappetising."

Cullen snorted at this and leaned over, reaching for the wooden pick next to Dorian on the bed. 

"Would it help if I used a pick as I try to unlock it?  _Not_ the metal one."

Dorian nodded and his heart started to speed up again as Cullen followed his instructions and began to fumble with pick and collar.  He focussed on Cullen's face, let himself become preoccupied with memorising previously unnoticed details: the patchiness of his stubble, the amber glint to his eyes, the scar that stretched over one side of his upper lip.  Cullen glanced up and caught him staring, and he couldn't stop himself from teasing the man to deflect from the intensity of their closeness.

"I find there are certain benefits to this situation." 

"You are insufferable!" Cullen protested with a laugh as the expected blush instantly spread across his face.   

"I think you suffer me rather well." 

Before Cullen could respond, they both heard the click on one side of the collar.  It wasn't fully unlocked, but it was a wonderful relief to know that Cullen had nearly done it.  The relief washed away instantly, however, when there came a heavy knock to the door along with the sound of Bull's voice.

"Dorian, you in there?"

"Wait one moment!" he called out sharply, alarmed at the thought of being near anyone other than Cullen while the collar was still in place.     

"Who are you shagging?" 

With a smirk on his lips but his voice steady, Cullen brazenly called out, "No one!"  A second or two passed as he continued to work at the collar, finally clicking open the rest of the mechanism, and then he added, "We won't be long."

The collar was safely packed away and Dorian sat, taking a few deep breaths to centre himself.  Cullen turned back to him as he rested his hand on the door handle.

"You'll be okay?"

"Yes, thank you for your patience in putting up with me."

"I wouldn't have you any other way, Dorian."

The Bull scanned them both intently as Cullen opened the door, clearly curious as to what they had been up to.  But he didn't question it, instead getting straight to business.

"Inquisitor's been looking for you, Cullen.  Wants you for a war table meeting."  At these words, Cullen nodded at him in acknowledgement before swiftly departing.  Then Bull turned to Dorian, adding, "Wants us there, too, in a bit.  We're off to Adamant Fortress the day after tomorrow, so she'd like to talk strategy."     

As Dorian followed him outside, he noticed Bull looking at him shrewdly.

"Oh, Maker's heavenly ball sacks!  He was helping me with some research."

"Research, huh?  Is that what you're calling it now?"   

To Dorian's annoyance, the Bull didn't wait for further explanation and winked in that creepy way that only Bull could do with his one eye before sauntering off ahead.  Dorian didn't bother to quicken his pace and catch up with him.  All in all, it had been an intense day and he was not in the right frame of mind to try to explain to the Bull, not that he wanted to share what he was researching, anyway.  Between everything that had happened at Redcliffe, reliving his past and the latest set-back with the collar, he felt a dose of lyrium that night would be well deserved.      

**


	7. Valve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valve: A move which opens one line and closes another.

_“It is no time to be playing Chess when the house is on fire” (Italian Proverb)_

This time, his Fade dream took him to the battlements, just outside of Cullen's rooms with the door swinging open before him without the handle even being touched.  He stepped inside to find the demon sitting down and acting as if it was studiously reading its way through reports.  Dorian had been in this position before, walking in and interrupting Cullen in the midst of work.  The present moment blended with the memory, the previous tang of guilt at distracting the man, only now it was added to the feeling that he was venturing into the man's personal territory given that this was clearly where the demon intended its latest seduction to take place.  It was more than a little arousing, but also rather unsettling.  He glanced up at the hatch, idly thinking that at least he didn't know what the bedroom looked like.  This thought startled him, the notion that there was a line he couldn't cross, one that he hadn't realised existed until that moment. 

"Oh, I'm not going to have you in my bed, today," the demon said, bringing Dorian's attention back downwards. He watched in silence as the demon rose slowly and took unhurried steps towards him, around him, stalking him like a predator with its prey as he stood rooted to the spot.  The sound of its boots stopped when it was just out of his line of sight and suddenly he was shoved forwards until his hips came into contact with the edge of the desk.  A hand between his shoulder blades pushed him over, bending him double, paper scrolls scrunching against his cheek as another hand grasped tightly at his hip.  The demon leant over him and breathed against his ear, "I'll be fucking you over my desk instead," giving a thrust of its groin to emphasise just who would be in charge.  "You like this?  The feel of being taken, of having someone in control of you, being their personal fuck toy?"

Dorian whimpered automatically at its unexpected assertiveness.  It was a refreshing change from their previous encounters, just what was needed after recent events; the demon had certainly hit the mark this time.  He was hard already at the prospect and, although he wasn't one for being submissive all the time, occasionally indulging in this sort of play really turned him on.  He said nothing, just let the demon get its answer from the way he let himself relax onto the hard wooden surface.

Keeping Dorian pinned between his shoulder blades, the demon shifted back to slide a hand over his backside, squeezing and fondling over the leather, occasionally digging fingers into muscle as Dorian moaned and rolled his hips back as well as he could against that welcome pressure.  The fingers drifted inwards and ran enticingly up and down the crease, pressing inwards every now and then as a promise of what was to come, then down further between his legs, forcing them apart to reach in and palm its hand over his balls and cock. 

"Take the damned things off," he pleaded weakly. "Touch my skin."

"All in good time," it said as he pulled the hand away only to give him a good, hard slap, making Dorian cry out at the sharp, delicious pain.  "I want you like putty in my hands before I have you." 

It spanked him again and again, continuing for a time, alternating between slapping him, soothing over the newly-tender areas and rubbing firmly between his legs.  Under its persistent attentions, Dorian could do nothing but sob out moans of pleasure, grinding back helplessly and trying to get some sort of friction within the tightness of his breeches.

Finally, the demon pulled his hips back away from the desk, just enough for it to reach round and unfasten the leathers.  It yanked them down to mid-thigh and began toying with his cock using only the lightest of touches which Dorian found exquisitely frustrating.  Putty in its hands was one hell of an understatement, he realised, unable to stop the perpetual gasps and cries slip from his mouth as it brushed against his now hypersensitive skin.  He begged for more as his hips twitched uncontrollably but the demon just carried on, letting its fingertips run up his shaft, circling the head gently before tracing back down, over and over in a beautifully tormenting rhythm.  

"My, you _are_ a delicious mess.  I think it's time that I take you.  Will you let me?  Will you let me have you?"

"You can fuck me, but you can't have me," Dorian bit out, grateful that he still had the wit about him to make such an important distinction with a demon.  

"Clever boy.  One day, I'll catch you out."

The hand moved away from his cock and then he was aware of two digits rubbing against him in tantalising spirals, feeling slick against his entrance, before breaching him, providing that satisfying and much-needed stretch to ring of muscle.  A piteous whine rose from his chest as they made a painfully slow slide home until he could feel its knuckles allowing no more. 

"He's got such sturdy hands, don't you think?" it purred as it moved in and out, a slow and gentle finger fuck, more stimulation than before but still not enough.  "Nice and strong for sword work.  No wonder you're keen to have that strength pinning you down, forcing you to be compliant as he takes his pleasure from you."

"Please, stop talking about that, you demonic bastard," Dorian gasped out, his voice hoarse from the want building up in the pit of his belly and the realisation that it stemmed from needing this to be Cullen.  He didn't need the bloody demon emphasising that point when he was so turned on.  The demon merely laughed and withdrew its fingers nearly all the way, before curling their tips at his entrance and pressing to one side, twisting round and pressing again, using them stretch him further.  "Ah!  That's good."

"Are you ready for me?"

"Vishante kaffas, yes!  Just get on and fuck me already."

Fingers were removed and replaced by the blunt tip of cock nudging against him.  With a roll of its hips, it pushed in deeply in one single stroke.

"How do you want it: hard and fast or slow and easy?"

"Take a wild guess." 

So it fucked him hard and fast, slamming against slap-sore skin, finally giving him the level of stimulation he had been craving.  Gripping at the edge of the desk to keep himself in place, Dorian pushed back at the relentless onslaught, forcing its cock as deep into him as it would go.  All that could be heard was their heaving, rhythmic breaths, punctuated with shouts of pleasure, and the creak of desk legs as they scraped across the floor.  He let himself sink into the blissful tempo, feeling the build of orgasm approach, but just as he felt his balls drawing up closer to his body the son of a bitch withdrew completely.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he whined pathetically.

"I want you to see his face when I come inside you, a reminder of what you'll only ever get from me."

Kneeling down behind him, it stripped him of boots and breeches roughly, with Dorian unable to do more than lift each leg just off the ground to help as weak at the knees as he was.  Then he was being spun round and lifted, laid out across the table like some sacrificial lamb, legs hoiked up over the demon's shoulders before it thrust back in and continued to fuck him hard.

Only a few seconds later, its movements began to jerk and, as he looked up at its face, Dorian wasn't seeing the demon anymore, not without its mouth close enough to be able to smell lyrium.  The sight before him was Cullen: Cullen's face fractured in pleasure, with his eyes squeezed shut and jaw slackened to let out a piercing cry as he came with his final, punishing thrusts.  It was all Dorian needed to tip him over the edge.        

He woke in his own bed, covered in sweat and come, realising that he must have passed out from his own orgasm.  That had been, he considered with a self-satisfied grin, an intensely enjoyable session. Content to just lay there for while, he dozed, replaying moments of it over in his mind until a growing awareness rose within him.  An awareness that, in truth, he had acted like an idiot.  What on Thedas had he been playing at, letting himself slip so deeply into the act?  It had gotten too close for comfort at one point and he had been the one to allow that moment to occur: one slip of the tongue and the demon could have taken him completely, possessed him.  He needed to be much more careful in future.

Not wanting to stew over his mistake any longer, he rose and made his way to the library, going via the kitchens to take his fill on breakfast leftovers.  He was only half an hour into skimming through his first book of the day, when a scout approached him in his alcove with another note from Cullen. 

_Unwell.  Would appreciate your help._

Another withdrawal phase, then, bad enough for Cullen to consider asking for more personal help.  His research could wait. 

This time, the soldier on guard stood to one side to let him pass and he pushed open the door.  What he saw was like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of his latest visit to the Fade: Cullen sat at his desk reading through paperwork just as the demon had been.  Only this time he clearly was having trouble focusing, his brow furrowed in a fierce scowl as the scroll fluttered within his shaking hands.  Looking up at the intrusion, a weak smile broke over Cullen's pallid, tired face.

"Thank you for coming.  I need this gone, need something to help it pass quickly: I can't let the Inquisitor down."

"You can't seriously be thinking about travelling tomorrow?"

"I don't really have much choice.  The siege at Adamant won't wait."

"Have you taken the potion?"

"Yes, it's helped a little, but my head is pounding and I can't stop this infernal shaking.  I could stop this so easily..."

"Cullen, don't think like that.  If I do this right, you can sleep through until the morning.  That should leave you able to travel, but you'll have to take it easy on the journey there."

"I will."

Cullen reached up to the clasp of his cloak, the tremor in his hands making him fumble in vain against it.  He looked utterly defeated by his inability to complete such a trivial task.

"Let me," Dorian said softly, walking up to him and snapping the clasp open.  He moved on to the plates of armour on arms and torso, saying nothing, suspecting that the wrong word would only make him feel even more demoralised.  Leaving Cullen's undershirt untouched, he then removed his own leather sleeves, before stepping behind the chair and placing his hands gently onto the man's shoulders.  "Lean forward over your desk.  You'll probably be most comfortable resting your head on your arms."

Starting with a light circular motion across tight shoulders, Dorian swept the his hands over muscle softly, letting Cullen get used to his touch before radiating out to encompass upper arms and then down to glide across the expanse of his back.  Once he felt Cullen start to relax, he pressed more firmly, kneading at the muscles underneath, stopping to work with a little more focus on the knots that he found using fingers and knuckles to loosen each one, noticing how the muscles had built up more on one side due to the way he favoured his shield arm when fighting.  It was like a form of mediation for Dorian, the way it forced him to concentrate on each muscle group, one by one until they slackened under his attentions with no underlying desire, no expectation of this leading to anything other than comfort for someone he wanted to help.  After a time, Cullen's breathing started to slow, punctuated by light moans of relief - the sound quite unlike anything the demon had made - and Dorian felt his insides flutter at the way Cullen was letting himself unravel in his care.    

He then moved onto the neck, squeezing and pulling to ease the stiffness, alternating this with fingers pushing and circling round and round either side of the spine, working his way up until he reached the hairline.  Once there, his fingers fanned out and up further to rake through hair, tenderly moving scalp against skull drawing a sigh of contentment from Cullen.   

"Cullen," he said quietly to catch his attention without startling him.  "I need you to sit up now.  You can lean back on me."

Rising sluggishly, as if his body was now a heavy weight about him, Cullen used his arms to push himself upright.  Dorian pulled him back further, coaxing him to rest his head against Dorian's chest before running fingers back through the hair, both hands now sweeping and tugging gently at the roots.  He worked methodically across the scalp, soothing and rubbing, feeling the man slacken against him, hearing his breaths become longer and deeper.  Cullen was starting to drift as he began to work in intricate movements over the man's brow and temples.  Dorian's fingers brushed over his face, pushing softly at pressure points under the eyes and cheekbones, around muscles of the jaw, finishing with his hands encompassing his whole face, sweeping back, one hand on each side, from the centre, pulling gently upwards and out to release the final residues of tension.

Cullen was now completely under and Dorian just let him rest, slumped against him, waiting for the man to come round naturally.  With Cullen dozing on his chest, he allowed himself to tenderly brush a few stray curls of hair back from his placid face.  This was a completely new type of intimacy that Dorian had never experienced before, and it meant more to him that any brief indulgence with a demon.  As much as he wanted to be the reason for Cullen to make more of those contented sighs and moans of relief, doing it this way would be enough and he had no desire to overstep his boundaries with the man. 

It only took a few minutes for Cullen to stir and then Dorian was helping him up, leading him towards the ladder, watching to make sure he made his way safely upstairs so he could sleep soundly in his bed.  Even the rather lovely view of Cullen's usually-rug-hidden assets on the way up only left Dorian smiling fondly. 

As he walked across to his alcove in the library, his peaceful reverie began edging away bit by bit to be replaced by guilt.  He was unnerved by a growing sense of inner loathing at his indulgence in Cullen's body.  Just what did he think he had been doing with that demon?  Using the Fade to take what wasn't his in reality made him nothing more than a selfish fool.  Why couldn't he say no to temptation?  There was no risk of Cullen finding out, but Dorian couldn't stop himself from picturing the man's reaction if he knew, seeing the disgust on his face.  He was an idiot and he wasn't going to let it happen again: getting rid of his remaining supplies of lyrium would remove temptation once and for all.  There would be no more visits to the Fade.     

**


	8. Zugzwang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zugzwang: When a player is put at a disadvantage by having to make a move; where any legal move weakens the position.

_“Chess is ruthless: you’ve got to be prepared to kill people" (Nigel Short)_

When they set off from Skyhold the next morning, Dorian scanned the troops for Cullen's face and was pleased to see him riding alongside Cassandra looking much better.  It was a long journey to Adamant Fortress, with them having to make several stops on the way but, at such a swift pace to their expedition and barely enough time to rest overnight, Dorian did not get any opportunities to speak properly with him.  Only brief words were had in passing, confirming that Cullen was doing well, that it was a shame there was no time for chess, and that their games were something they were both looking forward to when they made it back.

At Adamant, the Inquisitor entered the fray with Dorian, Sera and Bull in tow.  Dorian had no concept of the passing of time, no idea how others - how Cullen - were faring: all he could do was fight the onslaught of shades, demons and spellbound wardens.  Then came the dragon and the pride demon and when lyrium was offered by the Inquisitor, Dorian refused.  He was determined to keep to the resolution he had made back at Skyhold; he would not risk another visit to the Fade when they were done.  So, it was an appalling twist of irony when the bridge collapsed, the Inquisitor opened a rift and Dorian found himself in the Fade once more.  They were there physically, this time, no option to Fade step back to the waking world from a dream.  This was real, with Stroud, Hawke, Sera, Bull, the Inquisitor and Cullen all having fallen through with him. 

Dorian felt he should have been more aware of his surroundings, more focussed on fighting the demons, more connected with the revelations about the Inquisitor's mark, but the longer they were there, the harder it was to shake the fear that something was not right with Cullen.  He seemed more reticent than usual, less immersed in combat than expected.  Yes, they were in the Fade and Dorian did not want to second guess the effects this would have on his companions, but why did Cullen insist on sticking to Bull's blind side?  Why was he so resistant to them accepting help from the spirit that resembled the Divine Justinia?  Was that a whiff of lyrium he could smell when fighting alongside Cullen or did that come from the Inquisitor on his other side?

It was when Hawke suggested the Divine might be working with Corypheus and the Divine offered to let them strike her down, that Dorian knew he had to do something.  Cullen was far too eager for the Inquisitor to test her words, to distrust her help and be done with her.  Could he really be that same desire demon?  Was it worth the risk of acting on his suspicions?  The thought of aiming his staff at the man twisted his gut into knots.  If he was wrong, if Cullen was just off-balance because of where they were...  He had to be sure.

"Cullen!" he called, interrupting the impassioned speech being made over why they should cut down the spirit who was 'obviously only there to hinder their progress'.  "Stop.  Let the Inquisitor make this decision on her own."

"You would have us trapped down here by that thing?" Cullen snapped back at him. 

"I would speak with you for a moment."

"Now?"

"Yes, it's important.  But not here."  Dorian could feel the others watching him intently.  He took a deep breath before gesturing behind a large rock that jutted out into the path behind them and adding, "In private."

"Dorian," the Inquisitor said.  "We shouldn't split up."

"We won't go far.  Just around the corner."

He turned and walked, hoping that Cullen would be following him, wondering how on earth he was going to fathom this out.  If this was the demon, then it could be a simple matter of smelling the lyrium.  If it really was Cullen, then how would he be able to explain his actions, justify getting in close enough?  A smatter of relief washed through him when he stopped and found Cullen had indeed followed; nausea quickly came after when he tried to piece together something to say.

"If we don't get out of here..."

"Dorian, don't think like that."

"But, if we don't, there's something I need to say, need you to know...  Oh, Maker, why is this so difficult?"  As he stumbled over his words, Dorian decided to just bite the bullet.  If he was wrong, if it was Cullen and they survived, he would have to deal with the fall out later.  He couldn't risk them being led astray by a demon.  "You're important to me, so much more than just a friend."

A light of recognition went on in Cullen's eyes which went wide before he blushed and dropped his head bashfully.  The whole reaction did not feel right but Dorian needed more certainty than that before he acted.  He quickly leant in, taking the side of Cullen's cheek with one hand, pulling their faces closer, half expecting the man to pull back out of revulsion but he didn't, instead moving forward to meet Dorian halfway, letting their mouths connect.  The kiss was chaste, only lips against lips, so Dorian coaxed him to open up, to brush their tongues together... then he was tasting that familiar bitter-sweet tang of lyrium.  Drawing his head back, he looked sorrowfully into those fake eyes, feeling a pang of anguish.  This was going to be hard.  Even knowing it wasn't Cullen, he still felt hesitant to attack: every fibre of his being was resisting the act of harming that face.  At least, he consoled himself, with this being the demon, there would be no awkward conversation needed to be had with the real Cullen over what he had just said and done.

"I'll have you, if you'll let me," the demon breathed over his mouth.

Without the discrepancy of lyrium, a moment like this could have seen Dorian being taken in completely but, as it was, those seductive words spurred him into action and he whipped his staff round and blasted it with a lightning strike.   While it was reeling from this, he hit it with spell after spell.  At point blank range, it didn't stand a chance.

"Dorian!"

Spinning round at the sound of the Inquisitor's voice, Dorian found that the others had moved down the path, not so close as to listen in but he and the demon had been well within their line of sight. 

"You followed me?" he asked weakly. 

"We stick together in here."

"Yeah, so no sneaking off to snog people," Sera piped up, her screwed up in disgust.  "But that wasn't Commander fancypants, that was a demon.  You swapped spit with a _demon_ \- ugh!"

" _Desire_ demon," the Bull clarified, giving Dorian a pointed look, making it clear he knew it had been in Cullen's image just to tempt him.   

Dorian spent the rest of their time in the Fade in a mortified silence.  They had all seen what he did and there was no way he would be able to keep it a secret, certainly not with Sera's unstoppable blabbermouth.  So much for not overstepping boundaries with the man.  He felt numb as he fought against more demons, as they searched for their way out, as the Inquisitor chose between Stroud and Hawke to stay behind.  When they made it back to Adamant, events passed in a blur, with healers checking them over, then having to clear through rubble to hunt down survivors and, finally, setting up tents for the night.  He desperately wanted to know if Cullen was okay, had, at least, survived, but he didn't dare ask after him.  As soon as he was able, he retreated to his bed roll and passed out utterly exhausted. 

**


	9. Counterplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Counterplay: Active manoeuvring by the player in an inferior or defensive position.

_“No one ever won a game by resigning” (Saviely Tartakower)_

There was no sign of Cullen during their first day's ride home.  Dorian  felt sure that if Cullen hadn't survived, he would have heard about it and this helped to alleviate his biggest fear.  Throughout the day, he found himself on the receiving end of far too many sideways glances followed by whispers and smirks.  The news of what happened in the Fade had spread already, and although part of him worried over the extent of Cullen's injuries for him not to be riding with his troops, part of him, too, wondered if Cullen's absence was because the man was now avoiding him. 

As soon as they had set up tents for the night, Dorian made his way around the encampment, hoping to catch the Inquisitor and find out what had happened to Cullen.  To his dismay, she was engrossed in a private discussion with Solas, far too busy for Dorian's questions.  He walked back the way he came but stopped in his tracks when he heard Cassandra's voice.  Not someone he wanted to be engaging with, but if anyone knew as much about Cullen as the Inquisitor, it was Cassandra.

Turning to where he could hear her talking, he took a deep breath and strode forward.  She looked over at the sound of his heavy footsteps and immediately dismissed the solider in her presence, the expression on her face was cold, her animosity towards Dorian palpable.

"Where's Cullen?"

"Stay away from the Commander."

"Is he all right?"

"He doesn't want your help."

"He knows what happened?"

"Yes, I have told him what you did with that demon."

Dorian's heart sank at these words.  He had hoped to be able to justify the motivation behind his actions, but with the account coming from Cassandra, he could imagine it would have been phrased in the worst possible way. 

"But, is he well?" he persisted, still needing to know that Cullen would be okay even if he no longer had time for him.

"That is _none_ of your business.

She turned and left him in that singularly annoying, dismissive manner she had.  There was something in her tone of voice that reminded him of taking soup to Cullen back at Skyhold.  Another withdrawal phase, then?  At least Cullen would have the potion he had made to help him through.

Dorian trudged back to his tent, reluctant to join the others for food but, for a twinge of hunger and at Bull's insistence, he relented and made himself comfy next to the campfire.  He had only taken a few bites when the first taunt was made.

"So what's it like sucking face with a demon?"

His instinct was to glare and snap at Sera, but his Tevinter pride stopped him.  He would not let this situation get the better of him; he would take control, save face, show them that it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.  They would not see how weak and exposed it had made him feel.  If they wanted to bite, then he would bite back.  Twice as hard.

"Better than sucking face with you, no doubt."

"You and Cully-Wully been having it off back at Skyhold?" Sera persisted.  "Is that how you knew it weren't him?  Didn't it tickle your tonsils right?"

Blackwall laughed at this and countered, "The Commander and Dorian?  Hah!  I bet you realised when it let you kiss him: we all know he'd never give someone like you a second glance."

"As if you've never considered it, yourself.  I've seen you gazing at him in nauseating adoration, your beastly whiskers quivering with lust.  You're just jealous you didn't get a taster of your own before I disposed of that demon once and for all."

"How dare you suggest that.  I'll have you know I have a deep respect for the Commander.  I would never lower myself to think such things of him."

"If you insist, you hairy lummox."

Dorian was almost enjoying this verbal sparring - he was certainly relishing the expression on Blackwall's face.  However, he was also aware of Bull's unwavering regard.  He was being too quiet.  Contemplative.  Dorian didn't like it.

"Nothing from you, Bull?" Dorian asked, aiming to get the upper hand before Bull could blindside him with something painfully astute.

"Nah, not yet.  Trying to remember something, like I'm missing a piece.  It's niggling at me, but I'll let you know when I work it out."

Dorian found this somewhat unnerving; an unknown entity that couldn't be dealt with there and then when he had his wits about him.  When the time came, he hoped Bull would have the decency to surprise him with his revelation without onlookers.  As he rinsed his bowl and to cover this concern, he let his mouth run off one more time before departing for his tent.

"It's not as though Cullen doesn't already know that I find him rather dashing - after all, he's nearly as handsome as I am.  What I do worry about, however, is that one of these days a desire demon will actually realise this and arrive looking like me.  Then I'll be in trouble.  I am, after all, irresistible."

During the next day's ride, he could see Cassandra riding next to a wagon  set off to one side of the main body of soldiers and assumed that Cullen was inside dealing with his withdrawal.  As much as he wanted to find out how well he was faring, he didn't make his way over during the trek nor when they stopped for the night.  There was no point with the hostile Seeker keeping guard.

He sat with the others again and was pleased to find they had mostly lost interest in teasing him, although Sera still couldn't help herself and Varric threatened to write a salacious version of events in his next book.  As they were finishing their meals, Dorian noticed Cassandra making her way over and looking very unimpressed about something.  He studiously ignored her until he realised she had stopped right next to him.

"The Commander wishes to speak with you," she said, every syllable enunciated with a cold, hard precision. 

"Ooh, bet he's found out," Sera said with a cackle.  "Someone's in trouble now."

He ignored her and rose, nodding his acknowledgement to Cassandra.  She turned without saying anything more and stalked off, leaving him to trail after her.  So soon? he thought, worrying at his bottom lip as he walked.  Dorian had assumed that when Cullen spoke to him again, it wouldn't be until they were back at Skyhold, where he'd inform Dorian that continuing their games of chess and helping with his research were no longer appropriate.

But as he entered the wagon, he realised that a conversation about what happened in the Fade was not the point of this visit.  Cullen was sat in the far corner, pale-faced, a line of sweat trickling down from his brow and hands and legs trembling.  He looked worse than when Dorian had seen him during his withdrawal at Skyhold.

"I would appreciate your help again," he said, his voice faint and wavering.  "But I'll understand if this is too awkward for you."

"What happened in the Fade..." Dorian began, taking advantage of the moment and grateful of being given the opportunity to explain.  "I can only imagine how Cassandra has told it, but I assure you I had a good reason for doing what I did."

Behind him, Dorian heard a disbelieving grunt from Cassandra.

"So you _didn't_ kiss what you thought was the Commander?" she asked rhetorically. 

"It... it wasn't like that.  When it was fighting alongside us, I thought I caught a hint of lyrium.  I had to be sure.  I needed to get in close enough."

"To smell the lyrium on its breath," Cullen said as, to Dorian's relief, an expression of realisation swept across his face, "but you just let the others make their own assumptions?"

"It's not as though I could set them straight: that you've stopped taking lyrium wasn't my secret to share."

"Shit.  Dorian, I'm so sorry."

"Exactly what am I missing from this discussion?" Cassandra asked, her face flicking between both Cullen and Dorian, scrutinising them both.  "Dorian, how did you know to smell its breath?  And just what were you comparing it to?  Cullen, has he tried to kiss you before?!"

"No, I, um, I guess it was... we were close enough when..." Cullen began, faltering over his words. "Cassandra, you won't like this, but your collar--"

Suddenly aware that he was about to admit to giving him the collar for research, Dorian interrupted.

"Can't this wait until you're better?  Tell Cassandra about the collar then, when she can berate you all she wants without making you worse."

"Very well," Cassandra said coldly.  "But we _will_ be discussing this later."

"Thank you," Cullen breathed out with a sigh of relief.  "You can leave us now."

"I am not leaving.  You are vulnerable in this state and I need to know he will not take advantage of that fact."

With no table to sit at, Dorian helped Cullen to lay face down on the floor of the wagon, leaving just enough space on one side for Dorian to kneel.  As before, he started with light motions across the shoulders, back and upper arms, only starting to work at the muscles more firmly when Cullen began to relax underneath him.  All the while, he could feel Cassandra's eyes boring into him as he tried to focus on what he was doing.  It was intrusive but it also gave him a sense of detachment to his actions that he considered was probably a good thing; to have Cullen laid out next to him in that confined space, hip pressed up against Dorian's leg, was a far more intimate position than they were in the last time.  As he worked back up to the neck and scalp, Cullen let out a peaceful sigh and Dorian wondered absently what on Thedas Cassandra would be making of the whole thing. 

Drawing his hands down to rest on Cullen's shoulders, he leaned in and softly asked Cullen to move onto his back.  As Cullen turned over, Dorian found himself caught in his gaze briefly, a sleepy, contented look that, combined with the feel of Cullen's body shifting against him, left him wanting to press a kiss to the scar on his lip, lie down alongside him and hold him as he slept.  Cullen's eyes flickered shut and the moment was over, but the disconcerting tenderness it had aroused in Dorian lingered.

Trying not to let it show or be felt in the way he ran his fingers through the front of Cullen's hair, he focussed on pulling gently once more at the roots, massaging at the skin underneath, tuning out the contended moans as Cullen's breathing became deeper.  Finally, he was working across Cullen's face; brow and temple, cheek and jaw.  Just as he had done the last time, Cullen drifted off before Dorian finished, and he wished they could've been back in Cullen's office with his head resting upon Dorian's chest as he dozed. 

Resisting the urge to push back curls of hair or brush his knuckles down the side of Cullen's face, Dorian pushed himself up as quietly as he could.  He moved to the back of the wagon and climbed out, aware of Cassandra staring at him with a thoughtful expression.  As he stepped away to go back to his tent, she called out to him.

"I will walk with you," she said.  "There's something I wish to know."

"If you insist."

"You are clearly very fond of Cullen.  Just what are your intentions towards him?"

"I have no intentions, other than that of being his friend."

"The way you looked at him, what you were doing..."

"It was _just_ a massage," Dorian insisted, but he knew that Cassandra was no fool.  With the way she was looking at him, his protestations would be falling on deaf ears and all he could do was reassure her that he was not about to force his way into Cullen's bed.  "Yes, I am... fond of him, but you need not be concerned: his honour is perfectly safe with me.  I'm not willing to risk our friendship like that." 

After being so open, he couldn't resist adding just one flippant remark, something that he hoped might get under her skin.

"Unless, of course, he felt the same way and tried something on with me."

This didn't have the effect that he had imagined, however. Quite the opposite, in fact, with his words leaving her irritatingly satisfied.

" _That_ is unlikely."

"I know, but can you not look so pleased about it?" 

**


	10. Checkmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Checkmate: A position in which a player's king is in check and the player cannot escape the check. A player whose king is checkmated loses the game.

_"Win with grace, lose with dignity." (Susan Polgar)_

The following day, the Inquisitor, Cole, Solas and Dorian parted ways from the main company on a personal mission for Solas in the Exalted Plains.  With Cole in the party, Dorian made sure to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was to stay out of his head which seemed to have the desired effect, although Dorian firmly kept his own thoughts well away from Cullen the whole time.  Thankfully, their diversion to help Solas' spirit friend didn't take long.  Dorian could have done without having to fight another pride demon but it did leave him with a few shards of summoning stone.  This was the material he had needed for the collar.  He was sure it would be perfect for unpicking the lock without shocking him or draining his magic enough to make him pass out.   

By the time they returned to Skyhold, the rest of the troops had already been back a couple of days.  Rather than make his way straight to Cullen's office to tell him about the summoning stone, Dorian waited for the next day to see Cullen over a game of chess.  He was well aware that Cullen and the Inquisitor's other advisors were working hard dealing with repercussions from Adamant Fortress and did not want to interrupt him.  When Cullen did not appear for chess, he was not surprised that the man was still busy, although he was a little disappointed.  The mention of a game of Wicked Grace that night from Varric made for a welcome distraction.

As they were setting up in the Herald's Rest, Dorian took the opportunity to pull Cassandra to one side.

"How has Cullen been?"

"Much better.  He did sleep for nearly two days straight, but he was up and riding with the rest of us after that."  She seemed reluctant to continue but then she added, "What you did helped.  Thank you."

"I take it you've asked him about the collar."

" _My_ collar.  Yes.  I can't believe he let you take it.  I am annoyed with the both of you."

"I'll give it back when I've worked out how to unlock it, but I will be making my research widely known."

"No, keep it.  I suppose the Circles should be moving on from using such devices, trying to improve how we work with the mages not trying to suppress them.  Do you think you are close to a solution?"

"Yes, I do.  I picked up something in the Exalted Plains which I believe is exactly what I need."

The table was ready at this point, with mugs of ale distributed and cards being shuffled in hand by Josephine.  Just as she was about to deal, Varric and Cullen entered.

"Look who I've brought along," Varric said.  "Deal both of us in, too, Ruffles."

"Ooh, quick, Dorian, that might be a demon," Sera said with a chuckle.  "Better snog him and find out."

"Oh, you are hilarious.  How would I continue my mundane existence without your wit to sustain me?"

"Yes, that is quite enough, Sera.  I think Dorian's had too much of your teasing," Cassandra added to Dorian's surprise. 

He found himself smiling at the notion that she was actually speaking out in his defence and sneaked a glance over towards Cullen who, although blushing furiously, smiled back.  They then played through a couple of rounds and Dorian, to his chagrin, found himself on a losing streak.

"You can't stop now, Dorian," Sera said.  "I'll give you something to bet with if you tell us how you knew that demon wasn't Cully-Wully."

"It was too short."

"Yeah, right, and I'm a nug's arse."

"Don't worry, Sera, I'm sure there's someone out there wanting a nug's arse all of their own," Dorian said as patronisingly as possible.  He got to his feet, adding, "I will be at the bar, fetching the next round of ale - if someone else will pay, of course."

"I'm get them in," Bull offered.  

When they walked to the bar and ordered the drinks, Dorian noticed he had a curious look on his face, one that left Dorian with the distinct impression that he was preoccupied with something he found very intriguing.  As soon as Cabot stepped away to fetch another cask of ale, he turned to Dorian and said, "Hmm, scent of the demon's breath not right, eh?  That how you knew?"

Bull's words caught him off guard and left him feeling decidedly uneasy.  Although he wanted to know just how Bull had worked it out, he also needed to stop this conversation now: the topic of Cullen's lyrium withdrawal was not open for discussion.

"Are you sure you haven't drunk enough already?  You're starting to gabble incoherently." 

"Just remembering a couple of things that Cole said in the Hinterlands, 'bout bitter tasting kisses and lips that were his, but weren't."

At this, Dorian couldn't stop his jaw from dropping.  So was this the niggle that Bull had been referring to when travelling back from Adamant? 

"Yes, well, Cole does manage to spout all sorts of unfathomable nonsense," he spluttered as eloquently as he could.  With Bull putting things together so well, he definitely needed a way to escape and avoid letting anything else slip.  "You don't really need me here, do you?  I'm sure you're capable of hefting all those mugs by yourself with your barbarian hands.  I should be getting back to the table."

"Got a couple of questions for ya.  Might not want me to ask them over there."

"I see," Dorian said icily, realising with dismay that there was to be no avoiding of the subject.

"Demons often tempt you with Cullen's face?  Or was it the same one that Cole was talking about?

"The same demon."

"How many times?"

"A couple," Dorian answered vaguely.  "Please stop.  I'm well aware of my appallingly bad judgement in this matter."

"Nah, there's something else.  What was it?"  Bull chewed thoughtfully on his lip for a moment before breaking into a wide, shit-eating grin.  "Oh, yeah, something about you having touched him but not touched him.  You fucked that demon?"

Dorian chose not to reply, but the answer was evidently written all over his face. 

Barking out a laugh, Bull slapped Dorian roughly on the back.  "That's fucked up.  But how'd you shack up with it without getting possessed?  I'm impressed!"

With his elbows on the counter, Dorian hid his face in his hands and pleaded, "Somebody please kill me now."

"I take it Cullen doesn't know."

"Doesn't know what?" 

It wasn't Bull's voice asking this question and Dorian's stomach sank like a stone at the sound of it.

"Shit, Cullen," Bull said.  "Why'd you sneak up on my blind side like that?!"

"What don't I know?"

Dorian raised his head from his hands and glared at Bull.  "Oh, thank you very much, you lumbering bovine."

To Dorian's annoyance, Bull still looked ridiculously entertained by what he had learned.  He winked creepily at Dorian and said, "Leave you two to talk, then," before grabbing all but two of the beer steins and heading back to the table.

"Dorian, what's all this about?"

Dorian considered his options for a moment.  He could lie or gloss over the truth, but no doubt the Bull would trample all over that during the next chat he had with Cullen.  Besides, he didn't like the idea of being dishonest to Cullen.  After the things he had done, he felt he owed it to the man to be truthful, to explain just how much of a pathetic idiot he really was.  He supposed could be utterly selfish and ask Cullen to help him with the collar first, before giving him the details.  But, again, this was Cullen, and Dorian was not about to take advantage of him for his own ends. 

"I can't talk about it here."

"I did miss our game of chess today.  Shall we play now?"

Dorian nodded reluctantly.

They walked in silence to the gardens, ales in hand, and this disquieting stillness continued as they set up the board.  A horrible gnawing sensation was building in Dorian's stomach at the thought of Cullen's reaction, his face, the way he would tell Dorian unequivocally how sickened he was by the whole thing.  Eventually, it was Cullen who spoke up.

"Is it about what happened in the Fade?"

"Yes, and no."

"Dorian, I thought you trusted me."

"I don't deserve your trust."

"Why?  What have you done?"

"I've seen that particular demon before, on a few occasions.  Each time, it appears as you - I've always had a certain appreciation for a man in uniform, after all.  For some reason, it seems to think it will get lucky and be able to possess me.  But I can resist temptation; as you can see, I remain unpossessed, no matter how enticing the packaging might have been."

"Stop deflecting, Dorian.  I can tell you're skirting around something bigger.  Why don't I deserve your trust?"

"I've been intimate with it," Dorian said baldy, carefully keeping his own face expressionless while watching intently for Cullen's reaction, waiting for the outrage to appear.  Cullen didn't even blink.

"How intimate?"

"Very."

Cullen's face continued to remain impassive at this declaration which Dorian found infuriating.  At the very least, he could voice some sort of immediate revulsion and Dorian didn't like that he was taking his time in deciding how to respond, what words he would choose to tell him how disappointed he was.  At this unexpected contemplation by Cullen, Dorian wasn't able to resist from talking further, from making it clear just how appalling his actions had been and, once his mouth started running away with him, he found he couldn't stop.

"Truth is, I'm not a very nice man, Commander, and you'd be wise to keep well away.  The first time it appeared to me with your face, I only cared about getting the most out of it without becoming possessed.  I had no concerns about the fact that it looked like you, that it was the body of someone I knew; as always, I only give a shit about my immediate needs.  And the Fade-version of Skyhold it's created has been utterly delightful.  I've had it sat in my lap at this chess board while we kissed; I've let my hands roam over a shirtless version of you by the training ground; it's been naked in my bed, where I watched it use your mouth to suck on my cock; the last time, we were in your office and I let it pin me down and fuck me over your desk.  So be disgusted by me and what I have done - you have every right.  I'm afraid that morals never came into it, only avoiding possession as I indulged in my own unadulterated pleasures at your expense."

Cullen's expression had changed now.  It looked positively stony, just it had done all those weeks ago when Dorian had been brought back to Skyhold with the collar strapped around his throat.  At the sight of this, Dorian's defiant attitude withered away.  He couldn't stay here another second, not with Cullen looking at him that way, could no longer stand the thought of hearing him voice his contempt at Dorian's choices, for Cullen to be the one to turn him away.

"Well, I need my beauty sleep.  I guess I'll have to concede this game, Commander." Dorian announced abruptly.  Rising from his seat and abandoning his ale, he knocked over his own king with the tip of a finger before walking off without giving the man another chance to respond.

**


	11. Squeeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squeeze: Gradually increasing the pressure of a stranglehold on a position that is difficult for the opponent to break.

_"In life, unlike chess, the game continues after checkmate." (Issac Assimov)_

Life already felt so much smaller at Skyhold.  Only a short time ago, he'd known Cullen as an acquaintance, a colleague and he had been surviving quite well without the man fully embedded in his life.  Now that he had experienced what being in Cullen's company was really like, he ached at the loss.  One bad night's sleep  and one miserable morning of absent-mindedly looking at books and Dorian was left feeling utterly despondent.  He wished for the Inquisitor to come sweep him up on another mission, for some distraction from this place.  Even fighting a sodding dragon would be better than this.  There would be no research, no chess.  No Cullen.  He was such a bloody fool. 

Hurling yet another book over his shoulder, Dorian picked at the pile of dusty tomes that a soldier had found when renovating part of the keep.  He heard the book hit the floor in the rotunda below followed by Solas shouting up at him irascibly and even this failed to amuse.  Then he heard Solas greet Cullen and a knot of tension shot up his spine.  What was he doing here?  Hopefully, just passing through, he thought.  But within minutes he could hear the familiar clack of Cullen's boots coming closer.  Dorian didn't look up, didn't acknowledge him, hoped it would be enough of a hint for the man to leave him be.  

"Dorian," Cullen said, his voice sounding stiff and uneasy.  "Cassandra mentioned you had another idea for the collar."

Keeping his face focused defiantly at the stack of books, Dorian replied just as stiffly, "You can't possibly believe I expect you to help me now."

"I want to."

"Really?  Or is this because of some warped sense of duty that you feel obligated to see through, Commander?"

"Of all the blasted...! Dorian, I _want_ to!'

Dorian recoiled at the sharpness to Cullen's tone, taking a step back and looking askance at Cullen.  He had never heard the man speak like this to him before.  It both startled and alarmed him, the meaning behind the words lost within the inflection to his voice.

"I'm sorry," Cullen said, switching immediately to a softer intonation as he took a step backwards, hands held up in placation.  "Just... let me help you.  Please.  I can't sit by knowing that you might be sitting on a solution and all this... this idiocy is stopping you from achieving it."

It was a bizarre situation to be in, Dorian reflected.  To have Cullen not only seeking him out but asking to help him once more.  After what he had said last night, he could never have imagined this, but the thought of letting Cullen wrap that collar around his throat again unnerved him.  What did he think Cullen would do?  Take the opportunity for retribution?  No, Cullen was still the same man, the same gentleman that Dorian had trusted before.  It was Dorian who had proved himself to be untrustworthy, not the other way round.

"Very well," he said finally. 

Dorian led the way to his room, awkwardness coiling within his belly, unable to comprehend why Cullen would be willing to do this after everything.  The collar was retrieved from its chest and he handed it over, staring off to one side, unable to look Cullen in the eye.

"We do need to talk," Cullen said as he took a step closer.

"We did last night."

"Properly.  Last night _you_ talked. "

"Are you going to refuse to remove it unless I acquiesce to your demands?"

"I would never do that to you - when you want it off, it's off.  I'm just making it clear that once you're done with testing your idea, _we_ are not done."

Dorian reluctantly nodded and then the collar was fixed into place.  As before, he sat back on the bed, took a moment to get his bearings and then began to prise at the rivet with the shard of summoning stone.  After only a few seconds, it fell open into Dorian's hands.  He stared at it, stunned.  It had worked.  It had actually worked and so quickly, too.  Holding the collar up to Cullen, he insisted it was placed on again, needed to know this hadn't been just a fluke.  Again, it clicked open at the push of shard into rivet and, despite the tension between them, Dorian couldn't help himself from beaming at Cullen at his success.

"You've done it," Cullen said, giving a warm smile in return.

"I will have to find some ingenious way of keeping a piece of summoning stone on my person, though."

"I might have an idea for that.  Leave it with me.  Would you like a drink to celebrate?"

"Yes, I think I'd rather," Dorian said, considering that it might also help to make their impending discussion a little more bearable if he could numb the edges with alcohol.  As Cullen pulled out the empty brandy bottle from his wardrobe, Dorian remembered his fruitless attempt to sleep the previous night.  "Ah, I may have finished that yesterday.  I've yet to open the wine on my dresser, though I still only possess one glass."

"I know how to drink from a bottle."

"An utterly barbaric thing to do with a vintage of this calibre, but if you insist."

Cullen pulled over the chair from Dorian's desk and sat down opposite him, handing the glass over to Dorian.  They raised glass and bottle in a somewhat subdued toast to success and drank, but Dorian wasn't in the mood for celebrating, not when he was all too aware of what was to come next.

"If you want to talk, can we get it over and done with now?  I know what you must think of me, so please say whatever you need to and leave me be."

"How can you possibly know what I think of you, Dorian?

"There can only be one reaction to what I chose to do, and your expression last night made it very clear, Commander."

Cullen's face fell at his words.

"Will you stop calling me that?"

"But you _are_ the Commander, are you not?"

"I thought I was also your friend."

"Well, friends don't fuck their friend's body in the Fade, so evidently that can't be true." 

"I could really do with taking a swing at your right now."

"If it helps, I won't stop you."

"You weren't joking about being all fluff and bluster, were you."

Instead of firing back yet another defensive retort, Dorian found himself caught short at Cullen's choice of words.  He gaped in silent astonishment at his own turn of phrase that Cullen had spun back at him. 

"Yes, I was annoyed with you last night, Dorian, and now, but it's not because of what you did with that demon.  I'm... bloody livid with you, not because of _what_ you told me but _how_ you said it.

"You threw that defensive crap at me and it was, as you say, all fluff and bluster," Cullen continued, "one big front to protect your ego.  You told me how I was to respond to your revelation.  You felt disgusted by what you did, so you told me to be disgusted, too.  You didn't want me turning you down on my own terms, so you told the story in a way that made it a foregone conclusion as far as you were concerned.  You never gave me the option to of saying whether _I_   thought it was an issue or not.  You got to be one to walk away, to be the one to leave without any input from me at all.  That wasn't fair."

Cullen paused, allowing Dorian to digest his words.  Not only had he behaved abominably in the Fade, but he had managed to be utterly selfish about it afterwards, too.  He really was hopeless, he thought, as he lowered his gaze to stare vacantly at the floor.  

"I'm well aware I'm a self-serving fool, but thank you so much for making me feel even worse about the whole damn thing."

"You deserve it." 

Dorian gave a weak laugh.  Yes, he did deserve it.  He deserved everything that Cullen wanted to throw at him right now. 

"Dorian, look at me."  As he raised his head, Dorian was surprised to see Cullen looking back at him not with anger but fondness.  "Yes, you went into the Fade and made a few dubious choices, but here, in the real world, I thought we were enjoying each other's company.  You shared things with me that you didn't have to, trusted me in a way that I never expected, and you helped me, cared for me when I've been at my weakest.  You didn't have to, but you chose to.  Do really expect me to believe that all meant nothing to you?  Never mind what you wanted from that demon or what you did with it, what do you want from _me_?" 

He was speechless, but Cullen just sat there waiting patiently, allowing Dorian to respond in his own time.  Thoughts that Dorian had previously glossed over during their times together resurfaced, half-realised notions of how he felt and what he really wanted.  He forced himself to pick it apart, put it all into words, for Cullen's sake, figuring that at least he couldn't make the situation any worse. 

"I like you," he began tentatively.  "More than would be wise in Tevinter.  Back home, anything between two men... well, you take your pleasure and then go your separate ways.  When I realised I was interested in being that close with you, I couldn't pursue it, not when it would've meant moving on afterwards." 

"Thank you for being honest with me," Cullen said with a soft smile.  Then, to Dorian's bewilderment, the smile morphed into Cullen's naughty-schoolboy smirk and he started to laugh.  "I swear, getting you to say what you actually mean is like getting blood from a stone sometimes!"

"You're sassing me _now_?  I've just bared my soul to you.  I can't believe you're sas--"

He was cut off by the brief press of Cullen's warm lips against his.  Their touch was all too fleeting and he stared wide-eyed as Cullen sat back in the chair still smirking.  Was this some sort of joke? Was he back in the Fade without realising?     

"Relax, Dorian, I have no intention of moving on from you.  One night stands are not my thing, not anymore.  I'd like more than that if you're willing to try."

Dorian continued to stare back in amazement.  Cullen was actually interested in him?  He had assumed that Cullen would never have given someone like him a second look.  And now, with last night's admission out in the open... 

"Even after what I've done?" he finally blurted out.

"I haven't encountered any desire demons in a long time, but I have no doubt who they would impersonate to try and tempt me now.  I'm not sure I'd be able to resist, either.  In fact, on the way back from Adamant, once I finally slept in that wagon, I did have a rather tantalising dream - not a Fade dream but you were most definitely in it." 

"Oh?" Dorian suddenly found his confidence starting to grow.  The underlying trace of desire in Cullen's words was undeniable and this left him on much more familiar ground.  Teasingly, he added, "And what was I doing?"

"Not as much as I would've liked."  

"You know, we can rectify that," Dorian said as provocatively as he could, reaching over to take the bottle from Cullen and placing both it and the glass on his bedside table.  As soon as they had left his hands, Cullen was out of his chair and he found himself being pushed back to lay on the bed with Cullen  kneeling over him, looking down at him with hunger in his eyes, one leg pressed up between Dorian's thighs. 

Dorian ran a hand over the back of Cullen's head, coaxing him down to kiss him once more.  This time it was no brief touch of lips, but a heated connection underpinned by desire.  Their mouths played together with lingering, needy kisses, tongues teasing against one another, Dorian relishing the fact that, for once, this tasted right.   The feel of a hand running down his side to rest firmly on his hip left him taking a sharp gasp of air and he instinctively pulled on Cullen's shoulders, to bring him downwards so they could lie flush against each other, feeling Cullen's hardness pressed into him through their clothes, pressed along the length of his own heavy cock.  They rocked together gently at first, a slow, insistent rhythm that matched the pace of their warm breaths, mouths brushing over one another, soft moans of pleasure slipping out from between their lips.  It was intense and all-consuming and, sooner than he had expected, Dorian felt their mutual focus switch to an insistent build towards climax.  Kisses faltered as they both began to pant more heavily, moans became louder and more desperate as hips rolled together faster and Cullen started to swear profusely under his breath.  All too quickly, Dorian was crying out in completion, with Cullen following suit only a moment later with a deep, satisfied groan that sent a shiver along Dorian's spine.    

For a while, they just laid together, catching their breaths with Dorian enjoying the feel of having a post-orgasmic Cullen slumped over him.  He absently ran a hand through Cullen's hair and pressed a kiss to the side of his face.   

"That was very nice," Cullen murmured against his neck.

Although a brief tumble by his usual standards, their post-sex atmosphere was unlike anything Dorian had encountered before.  There was no need to consider when, or how, one of them would be leaving, no guarded words in case the wrong thing was said, a line crossed unknowingly.  As much as he was entranced by this, he couldn't help but feel a little unsettled, too. 

"What happens now?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The part that comes after taking one's pleasure.  I have no experience in what that involves, where this goes.  You do realise I have the potential to fuck this up substantially?"

Cullen laughed at this and drew back to kiss Dorian once more on the lips.  "And you think I'm an expert?  I'm content to make it up as we go along, see where it takes us, if you are.  Shall we start with more wine?"

"If you insist, my dear Cullen."

As Cullen retrieved their drink, Dorian moved up to sit against the headboard, making room for Cullen to sit next to him.  Cullen topped up his glass and handed it over before taking a healthy swig from the bottle and leaning against Dorian, the press of boot, thigh, hip and arm a comforting link between them. 

"I hadn't the urge for something physical in months, possibly even years, if I'm honest," Cullen said, reaching down with his free hand to toy with Dorian's fingers.  "There had been a few moments recently that took me by surprise, but they were only moments.  Then that book of yours arrived and, er... one particular drawing stirred something.  Well, the model _in_ the drawing.  He looked remarkably like you.  The schoolboy in me wanted to draw in a moustache, see if you would notice, but I did worry that you'd be cross with me defacing your book."

"I think I may have been more distracted by the thought of you imagining me in those positions.  Did you enjoy yourself while you browsed?"

Cullen blushed furiously, a wonderful contrast to that perfect smirk of his.

"I, um, may have done a bit of, er, bedtime reading."

"Thinking of me?  Did you imagine moustaches on all the pictures you liked?"

"Maybe a few.  When you asked what I liked in the book....  I felt rather uncomfortable about what I'd been doing the night before." 

"You know that I'm too much of a coward to admit what I want, but if you thought of me that way, why didn't you say anything?"

"All the while I've been helping you with the collar, it didn't seem right.  I didn't want to make things awkward between us.  I was worried it might complicate things for you, stop you from being able to ask for my help if you weren't interested."

"Not interested?! How can I have possibly given you that impression with all the teasing?"

"You have been known to flirt with a lot of people."

"But not as scandalously as I do with you."

"I suppose not." 

"And what if I never worked out how to unlock the collar?  Would we have been left as endlessly frustrated friends?" 

"I had more faith in you than that," Cullen said as he turned his head to steal another kiss.  "Now that you've been successful with the collar, have you any thoughts about testing your ideas on other devices?  As you've mentioned, there are collars with different locking mechanisms and, apparently, the Qunari have rings that have a similar effect.  I could see if I can get hold of some for you, if you'd like."

"Why, Cullen, are you going to miss having me completely at your mercy on a regular basis?"

"No!  Well... not exactly..." 

Cullen trailed off and glanced down bashfully, the ever-present pink-tinged cheeks betraying his embarrassment, and Dorian had a brief recollection of the demon using the words 'personal fuck toy'.   A flush of heat went straight to his groin.

"Go on," Dorian insisted, giving Cullen's hand a playful squeeze.

"When we were talking about the book and you described how collars were used.  The things you said...  You did leave me quite aroused at the thought of it.  But I would never want to put you in a position where you felt uncomfortable, that could give you flashbacks or send you into a panic."

"I trust you, Cullen.  I'd trust you not to take advantage of me and I'd trust you to stop if I asked you.  Besides, it might prove therapeutic and, I have to say, I'm quite partial to the idea myself."

"I want to learn more about you before we do anything like that.  I want to know exactly what you like before you put yourself entirely in my hands."

"That sounds like a very agreeable way to spend our time."  Dorian smiled warmly and brought Cullen's palm up to his lips to lick at it obscenely.  "The things you say.  Even when discussing how you intend to go about ravishing me, you still manage to be a complete gentleman.  I think I'm quite taken with you.  Do go on: I am rather enjoying this conversation."

Cullen let out a chuckle, smiling to himself, and then took another slug of wine before continuing. 

"Perhaps we could browse through your book together.  After all, you were very keen to have my opinions on its contents before.  I'd definitely be interested in yours.  And maybe, you'd like to share a few things that demon did to you which you particularly enjoyed?  I wouldn't be averse to hearing some more details." 

"Well, it did do a wonderful job of your facial hair, which it rubbed over _all_ kinds of delightful places,"  Dorian said as he leaned in to brush the side of his face against Cullen's cheek, hearing him let out a low moan.  "Oh, and it also gave exceedingly good head.  So I may have to insist on you carrying out that activity."

"Exceedingly?  That sounds like a lot to live up to.  Perhaps I shouldn't do that."

Dorian smirked against Cullen's skin and ran a tongue along his jaw line. 

"I'd be willing to demonstrate first, if it helps..." he breathed just below the ear, eliciting another enticing sound from Cullen's throat.  "And what about you?  Apart from having your wicked way with me when I'm helpless, is there anything else you'd like, something you'd want me to do?"

"Those massages you give when I'm in a withdrawal...  I imagine they're not quite what I'd experience at a Tevinter brothel.  I think I'd like to try one of those."

"Oh, I'd enjoy doing that to you," Dorian said with a smug grin and another swipe of his tongue.  He started to slowly massage a hand up Cullen's thigh towards his groin as he added, "relax you, build you up, then have you pliant, moaning and writhing under my careful ministrations."

Cullen drew in a sharp breath and shifted in his seat, swatting Dorian's hand back down.  "Dorian, we've not long just... go easy on me." 

"Do I have to?  I'd rather make it much _harder_ for you.  After all, we're not even naked yet and I'm very keen about that getting to that part."

"I do have work to get on with this afternoon."

"Spoilsport."

"We could have dinner later, in my office.  You could stay."

"In that case, perhaps you should be going now.  I don't want to turn up later to find you're behind with your duties and don't have time for nicer things."  Turning his head, Dorian leaned in to capture his mouth, smiling against Cullen's  lips at the intense way he kissed back.  This was so much better than any of the kisses he had shared with the demon _and_ it was real.  "And by the way, that rug of yours...  Do you realise it hides some of your finest assets?"

"I'm not getting rid of the rug," Cullen said stubbornly before giving another of his wonderful school-boy smirks and adding, "But I do promise you'll get to see much more of my 'assets' in private."  

"Starting from tonight, I hope."

"Indeed."

**


	12. Epilogue - En Prise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an optional, smutty extra...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> En prise: describes a piece exposed to a material-winning capture by the opponent. French, meaning "in a position to be taken."

_"All Chess players should have a hobby” (Savielly Tartakower)_

Along with two glasses becoming a permanent feature to his room, there was a new addition to Dorian's outfit these days: on his right hand a thick band of stormheart wrapped around the base of his index finger.  In one side, a groove had been made specifically to hold a small pick of summoning stone, so it would always be there should Dorian ever find himself in trapped in a collar against his will.   He never grew tired of letting people know about it or who had made it for him; Cassandra had been most unimpressed.

Dorian was currently pacing his room with anticipation.  It wouldn't be long before Cullen arrived and almost everything was ready: collar, candles, spare glove and nug fat that wouldn't be absorbed by the leather like oil would, butt plug, gag, paddle, all laid out on his bedside table.  Cullen would be bringing the ice.  They had played around with the collar before, but this was to be the first time Dorian would also be tied down.  Cullen had insisted on a signal - a loud, finger click - to act as a watchword and made sure that Dorian was okay with everything he wanted to do, leaving Dorian feeling an odd mix of being tenderly looked after and also deliciously aroused at the thought of Cullen helping himself. 

Picking up the message that Cullen had sent earlier, he smiled as he re-read the brief note that promised so much.

_Will come over after meeting with the Inquisitor.  Full armour, as agreed.  Looking forward to my 'spoils of war' - still very amused by your choice of words._

_Cullen x_

He started to undress taking off everything including the ring,  buckled on soft leather wrist and ankle cuffs and then secured chains to the four corners of his bed.  As he was finishing up, there came a knock on the door.

"It's me," Cullen said as he waited on the other side.

"I won't be long."

Now that Cullen was here, Dorian was able to set up the finishing touches without the worry of Cullen being waylaid or someone else turning up to his room.  Facing the headboard, he knelt part-way down the bed with his legs spread wide.  He reached behind him to clip his ankles to the two chains at the foot of the bed and then arranged his pillows in the centre so they would prop up his hips and allow Cullen access to his cock between his legs.  Lying down on his front, he put on a blindfold and then stretched out, feeling his way to clip  wrist cuffs to the remaining chains.  Finally tied down and spread-eagled, there was only the collar for Cullen to add.

"I'm ready to be despoiled," he called out.

There was the sound of his door opening, Cullen swearing under his breath and then the door being closed and locked.    

"I'm  amazed that you can tie yourself up like this."

"All it takes is a bit of careful planning.  Are we going off script now or you actually going to have your wicked way with me?"

Cullen just laughed as he stepped closer, refastening the chains at Dorian's wrists so he was no longer able to unclip them himself, and gently locking the collar about his neck.  Although it brought the usual burst of pain during the initial pull at his magic, the weakness that then flooded through him only added to his arousal with him knowing that he was now entirely in Cullen's care.  Then he could feel gloved hands at his jaw, forcing his mouth open and pushing the gag inside, marking the real start to their game.

"So, you're my reward for being such a good soldier.  Whatever shall I do with you?"

The first touch of a leather-gloved hand ghosting over his shoulder sent a shiver through Dorian's body.  It moved its way down his back, tracing his spine, outlining the curve of his arse.  He felt the bed shift as Cullen kneeled between his legs, the press of boots against his skin.  Hands were placed lower, circling his calves, gliding upwards to his thighs, fingers spread wide and thumbs running along the inside of his legs until they reached the crease between thigh and buttock.  At the feel of Cullen's thumbs dipping in further to brush against his balls, Dorian moaned softly.  Cullen began to handle them as if he were examining the quality of his goods, his possessions, working at the skin, rolling them gently between his fingers, toying with them.  Dorian had the urge to grind his hips into the bed but, being propped up on the pillows as he was, he knew it wouldn't have given him the pressure he craved; he just had to lie there and take it. 

Briefly skirting along the length of Dorian's already achingly-hard cock, Cullen ran his hands up to his arse, one on each cheek and spread him wide open.  Warm breaths puffed over his exposed skin and then Dorian was crying out around the gag at the feel of stubble nuzzling against his stretched skin, accompanied  by a wet tongue licking all the way from the tip of his cock, along the back of his shaft, between his balls and up along his crease before circling firmly at his entrance.    

"I'm going to stretch you open, now, and keep you that way.  Then you'll be ready for me whenever I decide it's time to fuck you." 

As he shuddered at Cullen's words, he could feel movement on the bed followed by the press of a leather glove against him, slick with nug fat, fingers pushing into him, sliding all the way home and back out again, the type of slow, stretching finger fuck that Dorian particularly adored.  Rocking his hips as best he could in his restraints, Dorian began to groan repeatedly against the mattress at the feel of leather-encased fingers inside him. 

"Maker, I just want to take you right now."

The fingers withdrew and Dorian let out a whine of disappointment which blended into yet another sound of pleasure at the feel of the butt plug being pushed in to replace them.  It was curved at the end, designed to press against his prostate when fully inserted, an internal pressure that was only emphasized when Cullen tapped firmly a few times on its base and Dorian could only squirm fruitlessly against it, ultimately increasing the sensation and making it more intense. 

Then Cullen was moving his fingers to dance the leather teasingly across Dorian's arse.  He could tell that the glove had been exchanged with the spare now, as it moved smoothly across him now with no accompanying slick of fat.  Those gloved-hands squeezed more firmly, kneading at his flesh, warming him up, and Dorian knew what was coming next.  When they planned what would happen, he had complained that it would spoil the surprise, but now he was just a mess of anticipation, his cock twitching ineffectually against the pillows underneath him.

The hands were removed and Dorian tensed, breath caught in expectation.  Cullen was making him wait, drawing out the moment to make him want it all the more.  Just as Dorian was contemplating clicking his fingers so he could get rid of the gag and tell Cullen to get on with it, a hand came down with a sharp smack of leather on skin. 

Dorian groaned loudly.  Cullen soothed over his skin momentarily and spanked him again.  Once more and another fleeting, soft touch before the paddle was also being used and this time Cullen didn't stop to soothe him.  One side, then the other, then a hand across the tops of his thighs, a regular, unceasing rhythm that jolted the plug inside him with every stroke and left Dorian sobbing against his gag at the sweet, stinging pain that radiated through his tender skin.  He had tried to keep count at first, to work out how close Cullen was to meeting that magic number that they had agreed upon but, swept away by the sensations, he soon lost track and found he didn't care, either.  He grasped at the chains and felt himself start to float inwards, attention focused solely on the throbbing that pulsed through him with every hit that Cullen made.  Eventually, the light touch of leathered hand on his raw flesh brought him round from his paddle-induced haze, making him shudder.

"Are you okay?" Cullen asked hesitantly.  "You remember what to do if you need me to stop?"

He nodded his head and sighed at the feel of Cullen's lips kissing delicately at his sore skin and a hand slipping down between his legs to lightly tease at his cock before Cullen drew back completely.  Then a flash of cold left Dorian crying out as a small cube of ice was placed just above the butt plug, melting against his skin, the cold water starting to trickle downwards as Cullen circled the end of the plug with the ice and slid the cube lower, tracing over balls and along the length of his shaft, it having melted completely by the time he reached the head.  Cullen blew over his skin, heightening the sensation, before replacing the coolness with the warmth of his tongue in an exquisite contrast of temperature.  Dorian whimpered and tried to grind his hips back into that welcome heat but Cullen drew back again, leaning over him and reach for something else from the bedside table.           

Dorian was left waiting once more, no touches, no ice, just the awareness of Cullen sitting between his legs and the suspense of what was to come next.  A second passed, then another, with only the sound of his own breaths in his ears.  His cock twitched and he shifted against the pillows.  How long would he be made to wait?  When would the moment come?

And there it was:  the tang of a slight burning sensation as a few drips of wax landed over the back of one thigh.  His head arched back automatically and he moaned loudly at the sudden stimulation.  More drips came, moving up onto his arse, from one side to the other, the points of heat becoming the sole focus of his attention, the way they added to the feel of sore skin from his spanking.  Another pause and then more wax on his thigh, not just a drip or two but several, enough so they began to run down the inside of his leg, a hot, wet, biting trail that seeped its way down to the mattress beneath.  Dorian's whole body was quivering uncontrollably and he hollered around the gag as Cullen poured more wax along the inside of his other thigh and then back across each cheek, covering his skin, leaving him feeling utterly wrecked.

"Fuck, I need to be inside you."  

At that moment, Dorian wished he no longer had the gag in his mouth, wanted to tell Cullen to take him, that he was Cullen's to have, to possess, all the words that he would never had said to that demon.  Then Cullen was shifting, slowly easing out the plug, pressing the head of his cock against Dorian, pushing in, filling him as one gloved hand took hold of his hip.  Cullen leant over him, grasping at his shoulder with his other hand, laying over him fully so that Dorian could feel the press of armour all the way along the length of his naked body.  Cullen paused to place soft kisses along the top of his spine before he started to slowly grind his hips back and forth and kisses were replaced with puffs of air tickling at the back of his neck.  Puffs turned into pants and the slow grind quickened as Cullen began fucking him in earnest, driving into him, slap of leather breeches against wax-covered skin, firm clasp of hand against shoulder and hip, sound of metal plates knocking together as he moved.  Dorian melted into the mattress at the way Cullen was using him for his own pleasure, his muscles slackening in submission except for his hands which clutched spasmodically at the chains holding him down, listening to the litany of swear swords that were now spilling from Cullen's mouth, betraying the fact that he was close.  The pace was incessant, a demanding tempo that had Dorian letting out a high-pitched mewl until, finally, Cullen came with a hard thrust and a deep groan against his shoulder blade.

Cullen remained inside him as he caught his breath, idly running a hand up and down Dorian's side.  He brushed his lips over Dorian's earlobe, then tugged at it gently with his teeth.

"I'm going to enjoy making you come," Cullen breathed seductively.  "And when you do, I'll be marking you as mine, my possession, my plaything."

Another spasm pulsed through Dorian's body and, at this, Cullen pushed himself upright and withdrew, immediately pushing the plug back in.  The bed moved as Cullen changed his position and Dorian was then being unclipped and manoeuvred, pillows removed as he was turned over and manipulated like a doll.  His ankles were re-fastened to the foot of the bed, spreading him wide, and then he was forced to sit upright, the plug shifting inside him as his wrists were tied together behind him.  Cullen sat at his back, leather breeches cocooning the outside of his legs, pulling him to lean against chest plate and sash, warm breaths ghosting over his ear.  Leathered fingers brushed over a nipple as stubble rubbed exquisitely against his neck, the spread of Cullen's other hand running across his chest and down, mapping its way over his belly, further to run along the inside of his thigh over the wax that had hardened between his legs.  Dorian shuddered as his nipple was pinched and rolled under finger and thumb, tilting his hips up in a plea for Cullen to finally let him have his release.         

He groaned deep in his throat when a gloved hand wrapped firmly around his cock and started to move.  Cullen reached down with his other hand, cupping his balls, fingers fondling and toying with him, squeezing gently, the constant change in pace and sensation a stark contrast to the steady rhythm being set on his cock.  As the pace quickened, stubble on his neck changed to hard kisses, the unyielding push of lips alternating with tongue before Cullen eventually settled in to suck firmly at his skin, working his way along the length of Dorian's neck, only the thin strip under his collar laying untouched.  

Between the feel of leather on cock and balls, the press of armour against his skin and the insistent pull of lips against his neck, it was not long before Dorian was coming, crying out against gag, his hips rocking in spasms against Cullen's hands, until he let himself relax back into Cullen's embrace, softening cock still cradled in Cullen's hand as kisses were peppered over the marks left along his neck. 

Dorian rested there as long as he could, enjoying the way Cullen was still nuzzling at his neck, until his arms started to ache.  As he fidgeted against the cuffs, Cullen pulled away to untie him, unbuckling wrists and ankles, laying him down, rubbing and soothing at his joints.  The gag was pulled out, a finger wiped over his lips, and then the blindfold removed.  He was greeted by the sight of Cullen's face leaning over him smiling fondly.  Cullen leaned in to kiss him, the brush of his lips now soft and sweet as the collar was unclicked and slipped from his neck.  Magic flooded back through him, heightening his awareness of just how much of a mess he felt and such a well-satiated mess, too. 

"Did you enjoy it?" Cullen asked.

"Mmm.  I wouldn't be averse to playing 'spoils of war' again at some point in the not too distant future."  Dorian ran a hand through Cullen's hair and added, "Have you forgotten to take something out?"

"Oh, the plug, sorry!  Turn over and I'll sort it out."

"No, I want to keep you inside me just a little longer."  Moving to one side, Dorian pushed Cullen to lay on his back and then draped himself half over Cullen, nestling his head against the ruff of rug.  "You always swear atrociously during sex; it's very adorable," he said dozily.  "Do you mind if I nap on you?"

Cullen wrapped his arms around him and he smiled as he felt himself start to drift off to sleep.  As his mind quietened, his thoughts briefly flitted back to his previous assumptions, how he had thought the man as painfully timid, even inexperienced.  He couldn't have been more wonderfully wrong.  Imaginative, playful and downright filthy.  Dorian considered himself to be a very lucky man.

**


End file.
